


winners by mistake

by lily_winterwood



Series: the promise i'll make [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Birthday Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hanami, Intercrural Sex, Japanese Politics, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Modern Royalty, Multimedia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paparazzi, Politics, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Reporter Victor Nikiforov, Slow Build, Switching, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vicchan Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 08:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12272439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: In their pursuit of independence and redemption, Crown Prince Yuuri of Japan and investigative reporter Viktor Nikiforov discover love. But as they continue the fairytale begun under the White Nights of Saint Petersburg, they realise that the realities of royal romances aren’t always conducive to happily-ever-after.Bringing a monarchy into the modern age isn’t exactly the easiest task, but neither of them has ever backed down from a challenge before, and they’re not about to start now. Not with their fairytale ending on the line.(modern royalty AU; sequel tolove like fools)





	1. we all want to know how it ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH HERE IT IS!!! It's just the prologue because I've been so busy with other things that I haven't had time to work on this AU! But I'm going to try my best to get a couple more chapters written up before I start posting them, so it might be a while before this updates again! I'm just posting this one now for the anniversary of YOI's first episode airdate. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado...

NEWS IN JAPAN

**Crown Prince of Japan Finally Set to Marry Long-Term Reporter Boyfriend**

Wataru Kanayama   
15 JULY, 2022

The wait for Russia’s little puppy is over at last — in a press release last Monday, the Imperial Household Agency confirmed what the entire world has been speculating for months — namely, that Crown Prince Yuuri of Japan and his long-term boyfriend Viktor Nikiforov are finally engaged.

“I was drawn to His Imperial Highness because of the ease by which he offered life and love,” Nikiforov said at a press conference last night, speaking in hesitant but flawless Japanese from a series of prepared statements. “I want to continue building our lives together in a family full of warmth and smiles.”

His fiancé, on the hand, was much more effusive. “Viktor and I have been through good times and bad, through political turmoil and personal reservations,” said the Crown Prince. “He is the first person I have ever wanted to hold onto in this way; I could search the entire world and no one else would ever compare.” 

And indeed, this five-year relationship has not been without its ups and downs. From attacks by traditionalist protesters to their own brief split back in 2018, from Instagram viral videos to Twitter storms, this power couple has come out on top of the entire world and dragged the institution of the Japanese Imperial Family into the 21st century with them. But it all came full circle in the end, when the Crown Prince took Nikiforov for their five-year anniversary back to the church in Saint Petersburg where they first met, and went down on one knee. 

“It was the most romantic moment of my life,” Nikiforov told reporters after the conference in his much more fluent English. “And that’s saying a lot, because we have shared so many romantic moments together.”

Other people in the Imperial Family approve of the engagement and are excited to welcome Nikiforov, who has been more or less training for his future role as an Imperial consort for the past two years, into the fold at last. Their Imperial Majesties the Emperor and the Empress say that they wish the couple “every happiness”. In fact, Her Imperial Majesty the Empress was reported by an Imperial Household Agency official to have hugged Nikiforov after the press conference, calling him “already [her] son”. 

Similarly, the newly-reinstated Mari, Princess Yukimoto, said that Viktor is “a good influence” and that the Crown Prince is “a much happier man because of him”. It is in parts thanks to the relationship between her brother and Nikiforov that enabled the Japanese parliament to pass the changes to the law that enabled her to return to the Imperial Family. 

And of course, ordinary people all around the world are happy to hear the news as well. The Crown Prince is somewhat of an Internet celebrity thanks to his best friend, media empire heir Phichit Chulanont. Naturally, when polled about their opinions regarding the royal engagement, 65% of respondents on Twitter said that they were happy for the couple, closely followed by 20% saying that it was about time. 

“I’m glad the wait’s over for Vitya,” said Yakov Feltsman, editor-in-chief of _ Stammi Vicino Quarterly _ magazine, the publication that Nikiforov will be leaving when he gets married and becomes consort to the Crown Prince. “He deserves his happy ending; god knows he’s worked hard enough for it.”

The wedding is scheduled to be held in spring of next year.


	2. every ending is a new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not quickly apparent, this picks up right where love like fools ends!

When Crown Prince Yuuri of Japan comes back to earth, the first things he notices are:

  1. There’s a lot of people around him.
  2. Several of them have phones out, or are putting them away with chastened looks on their faces.
  3. Viktor Nikiforov’s arms are still around him.



The last point he’s more than happy to indulge in a little longer, as he looks up into Viktor’s soft blue eyes and feels the warmth of Viktor’s hand against the small of his back. Viktor looks over at the gawking public, a small smile tugging at his lips as he begins to guide Yuuri back towards the palace.

Yuuri’s lips still feel as if they’ve been imprinted with Viktor’s. He lets himself be steered back home, Viktor’s hands steady against his body, the sounds of the public falling away into a quiet murmur and then silence as they venture back towards the gardens of Togu Palace.

“This is the right one, right?” Viktor asks after a moment, looking up at the building. Yuuri nods mutely, and Viktor chuckles, pulling him flush against his own body as he presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri closes his eyes, trying to quell the fluttering in his stomach as he puts a hand on Viktor’s chest, feeling the excited flutter of his heartbeat. The silence between them is golden, fragile; he doesn’t want to break it one bit.

“Your Highness!” Minako’s voice calls not a minute later.

Yuuri groans, and extricates himself from Viktor’s embrace just as Minako comes into view, brandishing a phone.

“Your Highness, _what_ —” Minako pauses for breath, looking wildly between the two of them for a moment, as if demanding one of them offer her an explanation for this behaviour. When none seems to be forthcoming, she sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Your Highness,” she begins again, her voice steady and polite but undeniably exasperated, “you appear to have landed yourself on the news whilst you were in the garden.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. Yuuri almost has to laugh from the absurdity of the statement. Instead, he schools his features into a calm smile, and asks:

“The news, Minako-san?”

“The foreign news,” explains Minako, with a wave of her hand, because of course the Kunaicho have managed to suppress the story already in the Japanese ones. “You were caught kissing Mr Nikiforov in the gardens.”

“Caught,” repeats Viktor, as if he has no idea what that word means. Minako seems to deflate visibly at that, as if knowing this was an inevitable conclusion.

“Check for yourself on Twitter, Mr Nikiforov,” she says, putting away her phone. Viktor pulls out his, showing Yuuri his feed with an amused look on his face.

Apparently someone’s photo of the two of them kissing in the garden has started trending in Japan. Yuuri has to hide his smile against Viktor’s shoulder.

“I’ll try to contact Twitter and get them to take it down,” says Minako.

Yuuri’s brows furrow. “What’s the point?” he wonders. “The news has already broken.”

Minako’s eyes narrow, but she says nothing to that, merely steps aside on the gravel path. “Perhaps we can continue the discussion inside,” she says, her expression stiff with disapproval as the two of them file past her like mischievous students caught snogging in a hall closet.

And in a way, a part of Yuuri feels that keenly as he looks up at the heart-shaped smile that Viktor is bearing. The handsome Russian reporter winks at him, before stepping away just far enough so that their hands still touch.

Yuuri reaches out, maintains their connection by squeezing Viktor’s hand, and promises silently to never let go.

* * *

  **A Real-Life Fairytale: Crown Prince of Japan Finds Love with Russian Reporter**

  * Royal birthday press conference remarks deviated from script
  * Condemned the “obsolete” portions of 1947 Imperial Household Law
  * Followed by a kiss that shocked all of Japan
  * Reticent prince finally expressing true feelings: has he found the one?



By EVE RIVERMORE FOR MAILONLINE  
**PUBLISHED:** 08:30, 29 November 2017 | **UPDATED:** 12:45, 29 November 2017

This morning marked a tear in the infamous Chrysanthemum Curtain which shrouds the Imperial Family of Japan in secrecy, when the Crown Prince, newly 24-year-old Yuuri, made several impassioned statements during his birthday press conference which deviated dramatically from the original script.

Sources from the Imperial Household Agency Press Club informed the Mail that when asked about the kind of Emperor he was likely to become, the Crown Prince told them that he wished to “speak from the heart” in his response, and subsequently delivered a moving denunciation of the traditionalism which has sabotaged the Imperial Family’s chances at perpetuating itself. In particular, the Crown Prince addressed portions of the Imperial Household Law of 1947 which he deemed “obsolete tradition” — namely, the fact that female members of the Imperial Family must leave it upon marriage to a commoner.

Other portions of the Imperial Household Law of 1947 have already been amended, notably Chapter 1, Article 1 which delineates the line of succession of the Japanese monarchy. Prior to the Imperial Succession Act of 1992, Japan’s Imperial Family practiced male-only succession, which meant that only the male offspring in the male line of the Imperial Lineage were eligible for the throne. However, after the Imperial Succession Act, the line of succession was expanded to include female members of the family.

Therefore, prior to 2012, the heir apparent had been the current Crown Prince’s older sister, Mari. However, as the section of the 1947 law that forces female Imperial Family members to relinquish their title upon marriage to a commoner has not yet been amended or abolished, when Mari eloped in 2012 to become Mrs Takao Suzuki, her younger brother Yuuri became the Crown Prince.

However, defending his sister’s actions was not the extent of the Crown Prince’s passionate statements. The source went on to say that the Crown Prince said that he now knew “what love is” and that he was “all the stronger for it”, amid several other remarks about love and life. According to them, such remarks are very rare for the notoriously reticent royal, who has been known in Japan for his rather brusque statements and quiet deliveries in press conferences past.

“He had planned this departure from his script,” says Hideki Ryuu, a known watcher of the Crown Prince. “He was trying to make a statement for someone.”

And that someone turned out to be none other than Russian investigative journalist Viktor Nikiforov, best known prior to his involvement with the Crown Prince for his role in the 2016 McCarthy libel lawsuits.

No stranger to scandal, Nikiforov penned several of the most controversial pieces in the fashion-and-politics bi-monthly magazine _Stammi Vicino Quarterly_ before the libel lawsuits forced him to keep a lower profile at the publication. However, in June of this year his star began to resurface at the centre of a web of romantic speculation tying him to the Crown Prince of Japan, after the two were spotted exploring Nikiforov’s stomping grounds of Saint Petersburg together in #CrownPrincesDayOff. Though Nikiforov was only confirmed to have been the Crown Prince’s companion that day long after the two parted ways, it seems that their excursion together in June has been the start of something new.

“I think the comments he made today were absolutely a declaration for Nikiforov,” says Ryan Hearst, a commentator for the _New York Times_ on Twitter. “No one would go to all that trouble to invite someone they’d only known for a day over for their birthday and not have something special to tell them.”

Not even an hour after the end of the press conference, the Crown Prince and Nikiforov were duly caught kissing in the Akasaka Estate Gardens. Although, according to eyewitness sources who had been in the gardens at the time, parts of the encounter seemed very deliberate.

“Not in the way that they were doing it for publicity,” explains the source. “But in the way that they definitely meant for us to catch them doing that. That they wanted to show the world something they couldn’t get on their own. I think it’s very romantic.”

The Imperial Household Agency has declined to comment on the day’s events.

* * *

The birthday dinner takes all of Viktor’s patience.

It’s not that he’s amid unpleasant company or terrible food. No, the test against his patience comes solely because of the burning loss of proximity between him and Yuuri. The Crown Prince is seated in the place of honour at the higher table, with his family all around him, and Viktor is relegated to the spot next to Phichit and the Nishigori triplets, three excitable little girls who claim Yuuri’s Chief Chamberlain Yuuko as their mother.

“So how big is the Imperial Family?” he asks Phichit as the servers clear all of the appetiser dishes to bring out the main course. Phichit looks up to the high table, where the Imperial Family is already tucking in. Judging from the smells and the quiet approval, it must be the long-anticipated Empress’s katsudon.

Phichit shrugs. “Very small,” he says after a moment. “Though not everyone tends to visit Yuuri all in one go, so this is the first time I’ve seen everyone together!”

Viktor does a double-take. “Only fifteen members?” he whispers. It might have been a little too loud, because he suddenly finds himself at the receiving end of a very disapproving stare from Minako, who has apparently taken it upon herself to patrol their table in particular for propriety. “So the rest of these guests are friends?”

“You can’t believe everything the Kunaicho releases to the press,” says Phichit with a wink. “Yuuri doesn’t consider himself as having very many friends, you know. A lot of these guests are people in the government he can’t afford to snub.”

Viktor looks a little closer at the guests at the other tables. “Local politicians?” he whispers.

Phichit nods. “The Governor of Tokyo is here, as he always is. And next to him is Prime Minister Matsudaira; he’s the head of the purists.”

“The purists?” echoes Viktor.

Phichit makes a pained expression. “Let’s just say he’s not someone you wanna offend,” he replies, “because he already doesn’t like you.”

Viktor can’t help but feel a chill run down his spine, especially as the Prime Minister looks up, and their eyes meet briefly. He quickly looks away, focusing on the bowl of katsudon set down in front of him, and takes a small bite.

“Wow!” he exclaims, and it must’ve been too loud because the murmur of conversation in the room abruptly halts. Feeling self-conscious under the pressure of a thousand stares, Viktor quickly hunches over his bowl and pretends to inspect each individual grain of rice.

As the conversations around them start up again, Viktor feels Phichit pat his back. “It’s always a little awkward at the beginning,” the Thai man says sympathetically. “I remember the first time I took my phone out at one of these dinners. Everyone stared at me like I’d brought out a bomb instead.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow, setting down his chopsticks and turning to look at Phichit. “Really?” he asks.

Phichit shrugs. “Yuuri and his immediate family are the ones who mind the least, but everyone surrounding them always act so offended on their behalf. You’ll have to get used to it, or make them get used to you.”

Viktor looks back around the room, which has largely returned to its previous state of ignoring him. The Nishigori triplets send him pitying looks as they return to their food; Viktor has the distinct sense that they’re eavesdropping on him and Phichit. They look friendly, though, and are clearly chafing at the unspoken rule of the banquet that children must be seen and not heard.

So Viktor refocuses his attention on his katsudon, remembering when Yuuri had offered to make it for him before he left back in Saint Petersburg. Said Crown Prince is currently eating silently up at the high table, his expression untouchable and beautiful, and Viktor’s heart beats a little painfully against his ribcage as he looks up at him and _wants_.

The katsudon is delicious, the cutlets melting in his mouth and entangling perfectly with the soft egg. But Viktor can barely taste any of it, beset as he is by the memories of Yuuri in his kitchen in Saint Petersburg, practically drowning in his bathrobe as he muses on his mother’s marriage, and all that could have been had things been different.

It’s in this moment that the reality of the situation hits him like a sickening blow to the ribs. This is it. This is the start of a new chapter in his life, the departure from the familiar shores of Saint Petersburg and relative anonymity in the pursuit of a relationship with the _Crown Prince of Japan_. Viktor feels the room spin, feels his stomach churn at the thought. He knows the extent of press scrutiny on Europe’s royals; he’d worked with the reporters who’d unearthed royal secrets for public consumption, after all.

And now he’s on the other side of the palace gates, and it’s _overwhelming_.

“Viktor?” Phichit’s voice is concerned, bringing Viktor back to reality just in time to see the way his hands have gone white-knuckled against his chopsticks. Slowly he relaxes his grip, grits his teeth, and puts on a smile that he doesn’t really feel.

“I’m fine,” he lies quietly. “Tell me more about the Imperial Family.”

“I haven’t met all of them,” replies Phichit, “but I do know a couple fairly well. I mean, the Emperor and the Empress, obviously. And Yuuri’s second cousins, Prince Kazuo of Hoshimura and his husband Prince Consort Tomoya. They’re pretty cool, at least in my opinion.”

“So Yuuri and I aren’t the first?” asks Viktor, gesturing vaguely between him and the Crown Prince.

Phichit shrugs. “No, not really. But you’re the first non-reproductive ones.”

“Ah.” Viktor nods. “I see.”

“Yeah, there was some media about Prince Consort Tomoya’s transition in the mid-aughts, but the Kunaicho kept it mostly under wraps. Probably the only decent thing they’ve done in the past decade.” Phichit laughs. “But besides them, there’s also Haruko, who’s Yuuri’s… well, aunt isn’t the term for it anymore. But they’re still called Princess Natsumi, and they’re actually the Emperor’s older sibling, but back in the day they couldn’t inherit the throne and somehow never ended up getting married.”

Viktor hums. “And the others?”

Phichit taps his chin thoughtfully, looking at the lineup. “Well, next to Princess Natsumi is Yuuri’s decrepit great-uncle Kazuhito, Prince Hoshimura,” he says. “He’s known to like his drink a lot and the newspapers love it when foreign tabloids try publishing stuff about his health problems, because then they get to report on that and act all scandalised about the breach of privacy. Next to him is Yuuri’s auntie Akiko, Princess Takamatsu. Then there’s Prince Kazuo’s mother, Princess Sachiko of Hoshimura, and…” he shrugs. “The rest are all cousins, I think. I’ve never really met all of them, though I think they’ve all heard of me.”

Viktor nods. “I’m guessing I’ll have to know all of them,” he says.

“Yeah, if you’re really serious about this you better hit up Wikipedia,” agrees Phichit with a grin. “I mean, I guess it’s lucky that there’s only fifteen, and all the cadet branches of the Imperial Family became commoners in 1947 so you don’t need to remember them. Yuuri usually gets the low-down on them from Minako, though — how many of his household have you met? Because those people are the ones you really want to know.”

Viktor bites his lip. “I know Minako-san and Yuuko-san,” he says.

“That’s good.” Phichit casts a sidelong glance towards the triplets. “Yuuko’s married to Yuuri’s head of security, Nishigori-san. He looks intimidating, but he’s pretty cool once you get to know him. Usually over a couple drinks.”

“Right.” Viktor nods, as a server takes away his bowl and brings out the next course, some sort of sweet-tasting fruit soup-like thing that’s probably meant to be a sort of palate cleanser. He gulps it down as politely as he can, looking up at the higher table just in time to catch Yuuri’s eye.

Yuuri smiles, a crack in the perfect mask of politeness that he had worn all night. His eyes sparkle with the same sort of want that must be etched across Viktor’s face, and the way he deliberately runs his tongue across his lips makes Viktor’s trousers tighten considerably.

“How many more minutes until this is done?” Viktor asks quietly.

Phichit chuckles, as Yuuri turns to address an older gentleman who has appeared at his shoulder, his expression now sombre, business-like. “Two more hours, I think,” he says.

“Two more hours?” hisses Viktor, earning himself another couple of glares. He mutinously spoons some of the fruit soup into his mouth, feeling his ears burn with the embarrassment of constantly getting caught making a fool of himself. No wonder Yuuri had escaped his guards while in Saint Petersburg. If Viktor can barely handle not being paid attention to, he’ll probably be a big failure when people do.

Up at the higher table, Yuuri gets up, and follows the man out of the room. Viktor watches him leave, feeling more alone than ever once they vanish out of view. He then turns to look at Phichit, who has also apparently glimpsed his friend leaving the room.

“Who was he with?” Viktor asks quietly, noting how even Phichit’s expression had grown more solemn just a couple moments before. With a sigh, the Thai media heir shakes his head.

“That’s the Grand Steward, Hiramatsu,” he says after a moment. “I can’t imagine Yuuri’s going to like anything that man tells him.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Is he a purist?” he wonders.

Phichit laughs. “You learn fast,” he remarks, but he says nothing else as the servers come to move them onto the next course.

* * *

“Your Highness.”

The words break Yuuri out of his reverie as he sits coasting through his own birthday dinner in the place of honour at the high table. Turning to his side, he sees the concerned expression of the Grand Steward of the Kunaicho gazing down at him.

“Hiramatsu-san,” he says with a nod. The Grand Steward bows again, and asks:

“If I may be so bold as to request Your Highness’s presence for a moment?”

Yuuri looks over at the lower table, where Viktor and Phichit appear to be in deep conversation. This entire birthday ordeal had originally started out as a properly informal dinner, but leave it to the Kunaicho to plan something much bigger and much more formal instead. He should’ve put his foot down when they started inviting conservative politicians (as they tended to do, since a lot of the liberals had a bit of an anti-monarchy streak in them) but for some reason he hadn’t, and now he’s regretting the decision greatly.

But he regrets even more the fact that he cannot go down to the lower table right now and listen in on the conversation between Viktor and Phichit. He regrets not being able to spend the evening next to Viktor, drinking in his easy conversation and considerable lack of expectations. He regrets and wishes and _yearns_ , and none of it is of any use in the face of the Grand Steward’s imperious expression and politely-worded order.

So he gets up and follows. Hiramatsu takes him out of the room and down a corridor just to be safe. Out here the dusk has given rise to a pale silvery moon, its insufficient moonlight barely grazing across the older man’s face.

“Well?” Yuuri asks.

Hiramatsu folds his arms behind his back. “I understand that you had a brief but intense dalliance in Saint Petersburg earlier this year,” he says, “but I did not know you would take it this far.”

Yuuri blinks at him, briefly lost for words as he feels cold anger and dread settle in the pit of his stomach. “What business is it of yours?” he manages after a moment.

“You are a member of the Imperial House, so of course it is my business,” Hiramatsu replies, his brows furrowing like a pair of silver caterpillars colliding in the middle of his forehead. Yuuri bites his lip to stop himself from smiling at the mental comparison, though — the Grand Steward seems to be in a particularly sour mood. “We have been very lenient with you as of late, Your Highness, but you know this cannot continue.”

“You speak to me as if you’ve been _allowing_ me to fall in love,” Yuuri states baldly, the cold anger slowly beginning to boil inside him. He clenches his fist, moving his hand behind his back just out of the older man’s sight. “As if the emotions I currently possess are only due to largesse on your part.”

“I would not put it so hastily,” Hiramatsu replies. “I only have your best interests at heart, Your Highness. As do Okukawa-san and the rest of your household. That reporter boy is going to be nothing but trouble. Foreigners always are.”

“You said as much about Phichit,” Yuuri points out. “And yet he’s still here.”

“Because he is your _friend_ from _school_ ,” grits out Hiramatsu, the caterpillars on his face scrunching up even further. “Your parents have given me explicit instruction to allow you to have as normal an upbringing as can be. This is not… normal.”

Yuuri can feel his hackles rising in spite of himself. “Tell me more about what you find abnormal about me and Viktor,” he hisses, trying desperately to prevent any of his anger from showing on his face. But Hiramatsu only smirks at him with that smug expression, and Yuuri has to pause and take a breath, trying to calm himself down.

“He is a foreigner,” the Grand Steward replies after a moment. “And had you been anyone else except the one guaranteed heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne, I would not have cared.”

At the implications, Yuuri’s forehead throbs a little. He resists the urge to rub them, flexing his hands behind his back as he looks the Grand Steward dead in the eyes.

“Then don’t care,” he suggests. “Viktor means no harm.”

“But that doesn’t mean he will not cause any,” retorts Hiramatsu. “He already has scandals to his name. You cannot trust him.”

Yuuri sighs, looking out the windows at the moonlight pooling soft just before the Grand Steward’s face.

“I know,” he says after a moment. “But I trust the traditionalists even less.”

Hiramatsu stiffens. “Your Highness, it has always been the traditionalists who rally behind the Emperor and the Imperial Family,” he points out. “You cannot afford to say such things.”

“And what if I don’t care?” wonders Yuuri, and if he sounds a little too savage he doesn’t particularly care in this moment.

“ _Your Highness_ —”

“A ruler must listen to all sides, I know. But a ruler must also forge the way forward.” Yuuri pauses, tilts his head a little. “Or perhaps you’d hoped to parade a thousand virgins in front of me, just to see if I’d pick one of them instead?”

Hiramatsu’s expression darkens. “I have never insinuated such a thing,” he replies, his tone a little pained even as he says that, and Yuuri chokes down the urge to laugh.

“Right,” he manages after a moment. “That would _truly_ be obsolete.”

Hiramatsu seems to shrink a little even as Yuuri says that, and for a moment he is not the Grand Steward but rather a little lost old man, stuck at the centre of a bureaucratic web whose strings go so far back that no one knows which ones are holding the entire mess together anymore. He’s almost tempted to pity the man, but before he can say anything about that, the Grand Steward takes a step back, accompanied by a small bow.

“You have made your decision, then,” he states.

Yuuri nods, and Hiramatsu sighs, his gaze now fixed by a spot just over Yuuri’s shoulder. He seems unsure of himself, as if he is venturing into uncharted territory. It says a lot, then, of the readiness to which everyone else in the country must bow to his demands, and Yuuri feels his determination rise up inside him at the thought.

Slowly, Hiramatsu puts a hand on his shoulder, giving it a couple weary pats. “This is not a path that can be easily won,” he says quietly. “You will face more than just the disapproving mutterings of an old man, I guarantee it.”

Yuuri nods again, already looking back towards the dining hall, already longing to be anywhere else but here as he watches Viktor talk to Phichit. “I know,” he says, as the silver of Viktor’s hair shines beneath the lights in the hall beyond, dazzling even from this distance. “But I have every reason to hope it will be worth it in the end.”

Hiramatsu’s smile does not reach his eyes, and neither does Yuuri’s responding smile.

* * *

The party gets a little better during the dessert course, where the servers bring out little platters of petits fours in flavours such as strawberry tiramisu and matcha green tea. Viktor is the midst of eating one when Yuuri returns to the room, slipping back into his seat with a small, strained smile. His mother leans in, as if to ask him where he had gone, and Yuuri shakes his head.

Yuuri’s father stands after a moment, gently tapping his spoon against his water glass. A hushed silence falls over the room as everyone turns to look at him. Emperor Toshiya’s eyes crinkle kindly behind his glasses as he turns to his son and says something in Japanese.

It must be a proposal for a toast of some sort, because immediately flutes of champagne begin to make the rounds along the table. Viktor and Phichit take theirs; Viktor watches Yuuri’s fingers flex against the stem of his flute for a moment, watches his pensive, detached expression as he rises to stand by his father.

The Emperor goes into a spiel of some sort, which at some points earns him a couple laughs from the other Imperial Family members. Yuuri’s ears flush, but he smiles, his eyes welling a little with tears even as he looks down at his glass. Emperor Toshiya concludes with what sounds like a birthday wish — though Viktor can’t be certain, considering his abysmal understanding of Japanese — and father and son clink their champagne glasses together. Everyone else raises their glasses, and the champagne runs sweetly down Viktor’s throat with only a hint of bitterness.

“He mentioned you,” says a voice to his right. Viktor sets his glass down and turns to see the Nishigori triplets, who all have flutes of sparkling apple cider and are looking at him curiously. The one in the pink dress tilts her head at him, smiling. “The Emperor mentioned you.”

“He did?” asks Viktor, blinking.

“Not by name,” says the one in purple. “He mentioned Prince Katsuki finding love. He must like you already.”

“Oh,” says Viktor. He’s not sure what else to say, in all honesty. But the triplets have returned to whispering solemnly amongst themselves in rapid-fire Japanese, and so he decides to refocus on his dessert. Phichit is already asking a server if he can take some of the cakes with him for his hamsters, his hands gesturing animatedly. Viktor sneaks the last vanilla bean petit four, popping it into his mouth without a second thought.

He feels a tug at his sleeve again, and turns to see the triplets all looking at him once more. “Wanna see something cool?” the one in the pink asks.

Viktor looks at Phichit, who is now engaged in conversation with the young woman sitting across from him, and nods. The girls hop down from their seats (the blue one grabs a couple more cakes and wraps them in her napkin) and start heading for the door, so Viktor quickly glances around to make sure everyone else is occupied, before following suit.

The triplets lead him down a darkened corridor, barely lit by the moonlight through the windows and the soft lamps in rooms partitioned off by paper doors. The girls all move confidently, as if they know this palace like the back of their hand, and Viktor can only stumble along in the dark, careful not to bump into anything that looks like an antique.

“What are your names?” he asks quietly. The girls pause and look at him almost as one, which, in the dim light of the corridor, looks vaguely unsettling.

“I’m Axel,” says the one in purple. “And that’s Lutz and Loop.” She gestures in turn to her sisters clad in blue and pink, before all three of them resume walking down the hall. Viktor speeds up a little to match pace with them.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks.

Loop flashes him a grin, her ponytail bouncing. “You’ll see,” she says, and then suddenly takes a left into what looks like a relatively-disused wing of the palace. Viktor follows the girls past what look like old servants’ quarters bearing construction signs, as well as storage rooms overflowing with crates and boxes. At the end of this corridor, however, is an unmarked, unremarkable door, and as Lutz pulls the door open, a gust of cold wind hits Viktor in the face.

He steps inside onto heavy black matting, noticing the small bench pushed to the side, the boards separating the mats from the decent-sized sheet of ice shining in the dim light from the corridor, reflected in the mirrors placed along the walls. Viktor breathes as he leans against the boards, his breath fogging in the cold air of the room.

“Prince Katuski comes out here to do figures when he’s stressed,” says Loop, coming up just next to him. Her head barely comes over the top, and she’s beaming proudly as if showing off a newfound treasure. “The kids of the other servants sometimes come by to skate as well. Usually for a game of hockey.”

Currently the ice is pristine; it must have been resurfaced recently. Viktor looks at the girls, who have now pulled out a phone and are bent over it chattering happily in Japanese, before turning his attention back to the ice. There doesn’t seem to be any skates on hand in the room, which is probably a good thing considering how out of practice he is. No point in getting into an accident at a small private rink in the Crown Prince’s palace, especially if he isn’t actually allowed to go onto the ice.

Almost like an extension of that thought, someone clears his throat behind Viktor. He jumps at the noise, turning around to see Yuuri standing at the doorway. The girls look up from their chatter, their faces widening into matching half-chastised grins.

“Your Highness!” they chorus in unison.

“We can explain,” says Loop.

“We just wanted to show Viktor your rink, that’s all,” chips in Axel.

“You’re not mad at us, right?” adds Lutz.

Yuuri laughs. “I’m not,” he says, ruffling at Loop’s head as he steps into the room. “Hi Viktor,” he adds. Viktor inexplicably wants Yuuri to ruffle his hair, too.

“Hi,” he offers instead. Yuuri looks over at the girls.

“Thanks for taking him here. I’ll escort him back,” he says.

“Okay, Your Highness,” they say, bobbing their little bows at him on their way out the door, before bursting into giggles as they head down the corridor. Yuuri closes the door behind them, shivering a little even in his suit jacket before walking over to the boards.

“There’s not much to say about this room if you don’t have skates on you,” he admits. Viktor comes to stand by him, placing his fingers only a breath away from Yuuri’s own. To his delight, the Prince closes the distance between their hands, his palm pressing softly against the back of Viktor’s hand.

Viktor is caught between wanting to freeze time, and wanting _more_.

“So it’s not too far-fetched for you to call yourself a skater,” he says after a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Do you compete?”

“I did in primary school,” admits Yuuri. “I took gold at the Spring Cup for my division when I was seven.”

Viktor laughs. “You must be better than that by now, then,” he remarks.

Yuuri’s cheeks flush bright red. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says, looking down at his other hand. “I got swept up into other things, you know. I was next in line for the throne behind Mari, and even when I was young the press was speculating on whether Mari would become Empress or leave the family via marriage. I guess some of them got it right. In any case, I was trained as if I was immediately going to succeed my father.”

“But you still come out here to calm down,” Viktor says.

“It’s soothing,” agrees Yuuri, and he moves forward just a little, the warmth of his body bringing Viktor’s self-control just a smidge closer to snapping. He turns to the side, catching Yuuri’s upturned face, the slight anticipatory parting of those pale pink lips, and something inside him clenches with frustrated need.

“Yuuri,” he murmurs. “We should take this somewhere else.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri’s voice is breathless. He makes no move to step away from Viktor, though, and Viktor is already crumbling from the inside, the need to touch Yuuri properly the only burning thing left in his mind with each passing minute.

“I don’t think it’d be good manners to —” He’s cut off as Yuuri yanks him down into a kiss, hard and wanting with a bite of roughness that makes Viktor’s knees go weak. Yuuri’s tongue licks into his mouth, plunders him like a warlord seizing his birthright, and Viktor yields gladly to the press of Yuuri’s body against his and the digging of the boards into his back.

“I’ve had enough of manners for one night,” Yuuri remarks when he steps back from the kiss, and though his pupils are already blown wide in the dim light, the roughness in his voice tells Viktor all he needs to know.

The prince offers his hand, and Viktor takes it almost numbly. Yuuri leads him out of the room with alarming briskness, down the corridors with the determined glare of a man on a mission. The halls are largely deserted; it seems that most people from the party have been sent off already. Any chamberlain that they run into on the path to Yuuri’s bedroom seems to trip over themselves in their haste to clear the way.

And then they’re in Yuuri’s apartments, the panel doors slid shut behind them, and Yuuri’s mouth is hot and wet against Viktor’s skin. He’s so beautiful in his determination to render Viktor into a sobbing wreck at his feet, and Viktor is more than willing to comply. Besides the tie (which Viktor tugs at as if it’s personally offending him, because it is), Yuuri’s suit is impeccable, flattering his body in ways that Viktor’s almost too embarrassed to put into thoughts. It’d almost be a pity to discard any of it onto the floor, though at the same time peeling Yuuri out of his clothing feels like the frenzied unwrapping of a much-anticipated birthday gift.

Viktor pauses, his fingers on the last buttons of Yuuri’s shirt. “Happy birthday,” he quips, and Yuuri laughs at that, his hand already skirting down to palm Viktor through his trousers.

“I missed you,” he breathes against Viktor’s lips. “I know I say it too much, but I missed you.”

“Last night I counted down the minutes until I could see you again,” Viktor replies, smiling as he undoes the last of Yuuri’s buttons. Yuuri shrugs out of his (probably very expensive) shirt and suit jacket like they’re rags, running a hand through his hair to muss up the carefully-gelled back coiffure before he tugs his undershirt over his head as well.

Viktor swallows at the sight, and fumbles with the buttons of his own shirt in his eagerness.

“I hate that you’re only here for a couple days,” Yuuri mutters as he steps forward to lend Viktor a hand, undoing the last of his buttons before untucking his vest for him. His fingers skirt along the vee of Viktor’s hips just barely poking over the top of his trousers; Viktor lets out a small moan and arches forward into the prince’s touch. “I wish I could have you here all the time.”

“Is that why Phichit offered me a job at _You Only Live Once_?” wonders Viktor as he undoes his belt and fly, shoving his trousers and pants off his hips with ready eagerness. He’s already so hard, so wanting; the look on Yuuri’s face as he pulls off his vest only makes him want _more_.

“I didn’t ask him to do that, if that’s what you want to know,” says Yuuri, his gaze undeniably fixated on the curve of Viktor’s cock, flushed and thick with a bead of precome at the tip. “And enough about him for now. I just…”

His words seem to fail him. Viktor understand perfectly, though, as his own words are slipping away at the sight of the Crown Prince of Japan sinking slowly to his knees in front of him. How many people on this planet have fantasised about this very thing? And here he is, not even having asked for it but getting it all the same.

Yuuri’s lips are soft and warm against the tip of his cock, and it takes way too much of Viktor’s rapidly-petering self-control not to come right then and there. He leans heavily against the door, suddenly extremely grateful that the door is solid as Yuuri takes him into his mouth. The prince’s hands stroke the shaft in time with the pace of his lips, and the way he looks up at Viktor through his lashes as he does so makes Viktor’s knees go weak.

He braces against the door, trying to will his legs not to give out as Yuuri continues to bob his head along the length of Viktor’s cock, his pace determined and steady as he keeps his gaze fixed on Viktor’s face. It’s unbearably erotic, watching Yuuri take his cock like this; Viktor thinks back to how Yuuri had ridden him that night in Saint Petersburg with this same mix of determination and desire in his eyes, and he groans a little.

His hands go down to stop Yuuri, gently (but regretfully) pulling himself free of his soft, sinful mouth. A trail of spit mixed with his own precome follows his cock as he takes in Yuuri’s slightly confused look, and Viktor responds by sinking down to his knees, cupping Yuuri’s face, and kissing him.

“I can’t imagine that you’re used to kneeling,” he teases when they break apart, and Yuuri laughs a little, his cheeks flushing in the dim light.

Slowly, they clamber to their feet. Viktor looks around; they seem to be in an antechamber of some sort, simple and sleek with cherry-panelled walls and a glass table. He turns to Yuuri, but the question barely leaves his lips before Yuuri is tugging him towards one of the doors just to the side.

“Our clothes—” Viktor begins, but Yuuri is already making short work of his trousers and briefs as he pushes open the sliding doors. He kicks off his shoes and socks with little grace, turning to beckon Viktor over with a crook of his fingers, and Viktor scrambles to follow suit.

Yuuri’s bedroom is smaller and simpler than what he’d imagined, with a four-poster bed, a desk with his laptop, several bookshelves overflowing with books, and a giant chair that Yuuri had clearly brought back from college. Everything is pristine, scrubbed almost within an inch of its life by the chamberlains, but Yuuri is quick to mess up the covers on the bed as he tosses them back and clambers on, looking expectantly at Viktor.

Viktor follows willingly, drawn as always to Yuuri like a planet towards its sun. The bed is soft beneath his knees as he clambers on, pressing Yuuri back against his pillows as he continues to press kisses all over his face, down his neck, across his collar. Yuuri blossoms beneath his kisses, fingertips digging into Viktor’s back and scalp as Viktor lays claim to him.

His cock brushes against Yuuri’s, drawing out a small moan from the prince’s throat which only encourages Viktor to do it again, this time slow and deliberate. Yuuri’s nails dig in a little harder; he muffles his next moan against Viktor’s collar as he bucks his hips up to meet him.

The friction between their bodies is sweet yet excruciating; as Viktor picks up the pace between them he is rewarded by the noises that Yuuri stifles against his neck. Yuuri’s hands tangle in his hair, clinging on as if for dear life, and Viktor’s pretty sure he sees stars in that moment.

“Viktor,” gasps Yuuri, and before Viktor knows it their positions have been flipped and Yuuri’s hips are rolling sensual circles against his, his cock grinding down against Viktor’s with each thrust. Viktor is reminded again of Yuuri in Saint Petersburg, the twilight of the White Nights casting his body into silver as he rode Viktor’s cock. He’s just as beautiful now — maybe even moreso, now that there are no misunderstandings between them, and no looming threat of separation.

He then sits up to better capture Yuuri’s lips, one hand holding Yuuri close while the other wraps around the length of Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri’s hips snap forward into his touch; he moans, the sound low and wet against Viktor’s lips as he starts to pump Yuuri’s cock.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against the corner of Yuuri’s mouth, his own breath coming in ragged pants. Yuuri moans, especially when Viktor’s thumb runs across his slit; his fingers run along Viktor’s back as he thrusts mindlessly into Viktor’s hand.

And then Viktor’s breath flees him the moment one of Yuuri’s hands reach down and wrap around the base of his cock, returning the favour with deft flicks of his wrist. It doesn’t take long for him to bring Viktor over the edge; he has been hanging there by the strings of his self-control ever since Yuuri got down onto his knees in front of him. Yuuri licks at the mess on his fingers almost thoughtfully, and Viktor has to suppress a groan at the sight as he leans in, chasing the taste of himself on Yuuri’s lips as his fingers pick up their pace against Yuuri’s cock.

Yuuri comes all over Viktor’s hand and stomach, his mouth open and his face and chest flushed bright. Viktor tastes Yuuri as well, popping a finger into his mouth and savouring the salty-bitter tang against his tongue.

“I had lube and condoms and everything,” remarks Yuuri a little ruefully as he rolls over to the nightstand to bring them both tissues for the rest of the mess. Viktor laughs a little; once they’re both clean he opens his arms and lets Yuuri slide into his embrace.

“We have a couple days,” he points out. “And we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Yuuri yawns. “I would suggest we start now, but you must be tired.”

At the sound of the yawn, Viktor feels lethargy seep into his bones as well. The last time they had had sex, they hadn’t had the chance to hold each other like this. He folds himself against Yuuri, pressing kisses along his neck with a small grin. Yuuri hums into the touch, taking Viktor’s hands and entwining their fingers.

“I can’t believe it,” he says after a moment. “Are you really here?”

“I am,” agrees Viktor, and he pinches Yuuri jokingly with his other hand to prove it. Yuuri squeaks, and laughs, and Viktor swears he’s never heard two sounds more endearing in his life. He takes their joined hands, pressing kisses to the tips of Yuuri’s fingers, drawing out slightly breathless giggles from Yuuri’s throat as he does so.

He doesn’t want to fall asleep. The time he has to spend with Yuuri is limited; in a couple of days he will have to return to Saint Petersburg and put a six-hour time difference between them once more. But the sated contentment creeps up against his eyes anyway, makes his lids feel heavier than lead, and he yawns again to Yuuri’s sleepy giggle.

Yuuri is here; Yuuri is in his arms again, this time hopefully for good. It’s all Viktor can think about as he presses their foreheads together, letting the calming rhythm of Yuuri’s breaths lull him slowly into sleep.

* * *

ROYALWATCH | NEWS | JAPAN

**LONG DISTANCE LOVE: Japanese Crown Prince’s Boyfriend Returns to Saint Petersburg**

Ellie Haagerup  
Tokyo | 11:59 AM | 01 December 2017

Parting is indeed such sweet sorrow. His Imperial Highness Yuuri, the Crown Prince of Japan, and his unofficially-confirmed boyfriend, Viktor Nikiforov, were caught saying their goodbyes at Haneda Airport earlier this morning. Mr Nikiforov is to be flying back to Saint Petersburg, where he lives and works as a writer for _Stammi Vicino Quarterly_.

Shots of the two sharing a goodbye kiss before Mr Nikiforov headed into security were caught by passing tourists and posted onto Instagram, where they now have over five thousand likes. The Crown Prince is a frequent face on the Instagram account of his best friend, media empire heir Phichit Chulanont, as well as the star of the #CrownPrincesDayOff tag during June of this year. So it comes as no surprise that people on the Internet are familiar with him, and always excited to see more of him wherever possible.

Mr Nikiforov had been in Tokyo to celebrate the Crown Prince’s birthday. The two had also taken their reunion as an opportunity to confirm through unofficial channels (such as Mr Chulanont’s Instagram account) that they are indeed dating. The official channels — the Imperial Household Agency — are not available for comment.

Whether this relationship has been ongoing since June or had only reignited with their reunion for the Crown Prince’s birthday is the subject of an ongoing debate amongst royal watching circles on the Internet.

“The fact that Viktor Nikiforov and Phichit Chulanont are mutuals on social media suggests to me that they’ve been an item for longer than we know,” RoyalForums commentator lizakatsuki points out. “HIH communicates with us through Chulanont, so it’d make sense for them to have been reunited on the Internet first.”

In any case, if the two were not in a long-distance relationship before this, they will certainly be soon, once they settle back into the six-hour-time zone difference between Tokyo and Saint Petersburg.

“I hope they can make up the distance,” says another RoyalForums commentator, arosiehaze. “They seem very happy together, after all.”

tagged: _imperial family of japan_ , _crown prince yuuri_ , _romantic speculation_

* * *

Viktor had anticipated things being a little different when he got back to Saint Petersburg from Tokyo. He had just simply underestimated _how_ different.

“Vitya! Vitya, is it true that you are officially in a relationship with the Crown Prince?” The arrivals area of Pulkovo International Airport is flashing with camera bulbs and bursting with the noise of reporters jostling and clamouring to be heard. Viktor recognises a couple faces — he’d worked with some of these people during his years of press service — and quickly dons his sunglasses as he clears the barrier of the arrivals gate and into the throng of press members. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead, Viktor begins to stride towards the exit with his bags, resolutely ignoring the questions and exclamations of the people around him in his quest for the door.

He can’t help but wonder how strange it must be for these people to be interviewing one of their own. Someone who’d covered beats with them, who’d attended press conferences with them, who’d sat at the table of correspondent dinners and award ceremonies with them. Surely he must be frustrating them, not saying anything as he heads towards the door. Or perhaps to some of them he is just another new scandal, a public figure for fifteen minutes before something bigger and better comes along.

Speaking of bigger and better, though —

“Vitya!” Yakov’s gruff voice cuts through the crowd. Moments later Viktor feels a hand on his arm, and he turns to look up at his editor. Yakov Feltsman’s expression is stormy; without another word he begins to clear a path, glaring at the other journalists until they fall by the wayside like scattered leaves and open up a way to the door.

Viktor gratefully shuffles along just behind him all the way to his car. Outside Pulkovo the snow is piled high, and Yakov’s car is idling noisily in the parking lot just across from the arrivals hall entrance. He pops the trunk before getting into the driver’s seat; Viktor quickly loads his suitcase and slams the lid before folding himself into the passenger side of the car, heaving a sigh of relief as he feels the heater against his frigid hands.

“How long have you had the car idling?” he asks.

Yakov grunts as he turns on the engine. “Surprised they didn’t ticket me,” he says as he starts backing out.

“How did you even — I didn’t text you.” Viktor checks his phone, where Yuuri has sent him a new message: _I miss you already_. With a smile, he sends back a string of hearts.

Yakov scoffs. “Everyone knew your ETA,” he says. “You’re not exactly private anymore.”

“I didn’t know you _cared_ ,” teases Viktor, grinning at the old editor, who merely looks up at the ceiling of the car.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asks.

Viktor quickly stifles a yawn. “No.”

“Right.” Yakov harrumphs, as he pulls out of the parking lot onto the roadway leading back to Saint Petersburg. “Well, if you really want to know, I was just in the area dropping Yurochka off. He’s flying off to Moscow to spend some time with his grandfather.”

Viktor turns to look out at the snow-covered fields under the grey winter sky. “I see,” he says. His editor hums, and then turns on the radio.

_How fitting it is that one of Russia’s most notorious reporters has found himself thrust onto the opposite side of the pen? Viktor Nikiforov was greeted by the press today upon returning to Saint Petersburg after a small holiday in Tokyo, where he had confirmed on social media that he is, in fact, dating the Crown Prince of Japan…_

“Can we change the channel?” asks Viktor. Yakov makes a noncommittal noise, so Viktor presses another preset.

— _romance of the White Nights! Though the two were not conventional by any means, I think. Remember the photos of them being pulled out of the Neva? Certainly not quite the same as being stranded on Vasilevsky_ —

He presses yet another preset button.

— _historically Japanese tourism to Russia has been fairly low because of the political tensions between the two countries, but Olga, if I am correct in reading your statements, you believe that this will change with the story of the Crown Prince and Nikiforov?_

Viktor growls. “Do you have any _music_ channels, Yakov?” he asks.

“There’s a tuning dial,” replies Yakov. Viktor grumbles, but he starts searching through the static-filled frequencies all the same. Slowly, the fields around them are becoming more and more developed; clusters of prefabricated apartments clearly dating back from Soviet days loom on the horizon. A bus pulls past them, full of commuters holding suitcases.

Viktor finally finds a music channel once they pass the big shopping plaza on Pulkovo Street, just across from the first of the prefabs in shades of beige and red. It’s mostly American top 40s mixed in with lesser known Europop, but it’s also leagues better than another news or talk channel discussing his return to the city. He lets the music wash over him and fill the car as he turns to stare at the barren trees lining the roadway.

They pass by more apartments, more high-rises and mall complexes and foreign car dealerships. There’s the Toyota plant Yuuri had visited, next to a concrete building that’s supposed to be an American-chain inn of some sort. Everything seems muffled and slightly dead below layers and layers of snow, and the statues of the Victory Square roundabout are sporting snowy white hats as Viktor passes them by.

“Have you eaten?” asks Yakov suddenly.

“Not since the airport in Tokyo,” admits Viktor. He’d grabbed some soup at the dashi bar at Haneda, but that had been hours and hours ago. He’d managed to sleep through most of the flight, which included missing out on most of the food. Not that he could ever stomach airplane food, anyway.

He pulls up his gallery, now full of selfies with Yuuri and his toy poodle, Vicchan. He wouldn’t change his wallpaper of Makkachin nosing at the camera for the world, but maybe it’s time he swapped out the selfie of himself on the lock screen instead.

“Do you want to stop for food?” asks Yakov.

“I want to pick up Makka from Chris’s apartment,” replies Viktor. “I can get food on my own.”

Yakov hums. “Suit yourself. Remind me where Chris lives again?”

Viktor tells him, and Yakov continues to head down the street, towards the older and more stylised parts of town. Viktor thumbs through his selfies with Yuuri — most of them taken in gardens and courtyards all around Akasaka Estate, as well as in the State Guest House. Yuuri and Phichit had also taken him to Shibuya and Roppongi, and there are a couple badly-lit selfies of the three of them lost amid the crowds at Shibuya crossing. Yuuri has on a face mask in these pictures, waving a victory sign nonetheless as he leans in against Viktor with a hand on Phichit’s shoulder.

And then there’s one of the two of them in bed, Yuuri’s eyes closed as he leans up to kiss Viktor on the cheek. Viktor had considered sharing this one — it was tasteful, after all, and adorable, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t get some kick out of all the photos that already exist of the two of them. It’s like a form of possession, in the sweetest and most wonderful way. But there’s also something possessive in keeping this image of Yuuri for his eyes only.

He goes for a picture of the two of them posing with the Tokyo Tower in the distance instead.

Yakov pulls up in front of Christophe’s apartment building moments later. It’s a couple blocks from his studio, in a decent part of town with many different restaurants and cafés. While the old editor waits in the car (“I’m too old to be stomping up the stairs of an apartment building”), Viktor texts Christophe to buzz him in and then heads up to the third floor.

Makkachin is upon him even before Christophe can get the door open all the way. “Down, boy!” Viktor exclaims, and Makkachin pounces on him instead; he braces quickly, though, catching his poodle as he puts his paws on Viktor’s shoulders and slobbers over his face. “You missed me, huh? You really missed me.”

“You can say that again,” says Christophe. “Did you want to come in?”

“Yakov’s waiting downstairs, so I better hurry.”

“I’ll get Masumi to finish the eggs, then,” says Christophe, and vanishes back into the apartment. The sound of German comes wafting through the apartment, followed by clattering as someone starts moving through a cupboard of some sort. Moments later, Christophe returns with the bag of supplies and the leash that Viktor had entrusted him with less than a week ago. “You look like hell. Jetlag can be a bitch, I bet.”

“I’ll manage,” replies Viktor with a bracing smile as he takes the bag and clips the leash onto Makkachin’s collar. “Thanks for watching him.”

“He was a good boy,” replies Christophe, patting the poodle’s head. “Even Jules got used to him in the end. And believe me, she usually never gets used to dogs.”

Viktor chuckles at that. “Well, tell Masumi and Julia I said hi,” he replies, and straightens up to start heading down the stairs again.

“I shall,” agrees Christophe. “And you take care, okay, Vik? You were discussed on _Good Morning_ today — I couldn’t catch most of it since they still talk too fast for me, but I’m pretty sure it was about the kiss photos.”

Viktor groans. “Of course it’s about the kiss photos,” he grumbles, and Christophe laughs.

“So it’s true, then? You and Yuuri finally worked it out?” he asks.

“I hope so,” replies Viktor, feeling that usual pounding in his chest at the mere thought of Yuuri. “I really want this to work, Chris. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“An admirable goal.” Christophe winks, shifting to rest against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “But if things do work out, that might, uh, make you a future Imperial consort of Japan. Life’s never going to be normal for you, ever again. You know that?”

Viktor laughs at that. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. And I don’t think I’d have it any other way.”

Christophe raises an eyebrow at that, as if he doubts Viktor will think that in a couple months’ time. But Viktor only smiles at him, hope burning brightly in his chest at the prospect of happily ever after with Yuuri at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Togu/Akasaka Palaces: If you weren't here for the ending of the previous story, Togu Palace is the residence of the Crown Prince! It is a small modern building in the Akasaka Estate, where there are other residences of other Imperial Family members (but not the Emperor and Emperess, who are at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo). Akasaka Palace is also the State Guest House. 
> 
> Imperial Household Law of 1947: A real law that establishes the line of succession and the laws that govern membership in the Imperial Family. As you can tell based on the date, it was done during the American occupation of Japan after WW2 (which I... am going to try and slide around as much as possible because that's not a can of worms I wanna open into this AU). Basically the real Imperial Household Law establishes agnatic succession (males only starting from the eldest son of the Emperor) and states that women in the Imperial Family leave the family upon marriage. It also disowned the oke and shinnoke households (cadet branches) of the Imperial Family.
> 
> The real-life number of Imperial Family members is more like... eighteen? I have decided to use OCs for the one in this AU because I don't wanna, you know, offend real-life Japanese royals lmao. I have a family tree. It took me several hours. Also, just in case you missed this in the original fic: I'm calling creative liberties on the naming, so not every male member of the Imperial family has -hito in their name. 
> 
> Tomoya and Haruko: I want to emphasise very specifically that homophobia is not a thing in this AU. The resistance the Kunaicho (and, as you'll see eventually, the purists/traditionalists/conservatives) have to Viktuuri is the fact that Viktor is a foreigner, with the non-reproductive aspect as a secondary concern. Hence, there was very little scandal about Tomoya's transition and Haruko's coming-out. 
> 
> Grand Steward: Head of the Kunaicho (for people who missed the first instalment, the Imperial Household Agency). I was gonna name him Yamamoto, but that was the _actual_ Grand Steward's last name. Awkward. Anyway, he works directly with the Emperor and the Emperess and oversees a lot of the other branches. And it is in fact true that the Kunaicho is so steeped in bureaucracy and outdated traditions that they wanna preserve for old time's sake that no one has really any clue what's going on. Also turnover is really high, so no one gets used to the system long enough to figure it out. (I'll handwave Yuuri's crew having been with him since he was a kid lmao)
> 
> Ice rink/Yuuri's room/layout of the palace: This is all completely made-up. The Kunaicho understandably don't provide blueprints of Togu Palace. If you actually have been in that palace please let me know if I got it all wrong. (Also, let me have an ice rink ok? Some rich people in Connecticut have an ice rink. Yuuri can have one too)
> 
> Russo-Japanese relations: IRL? A serious mess lmao, especially since they technically are still at war (they never signed a treaty after WW2) and still argue over the Kuril Islands. Also, the Japanese have like the most negative opinion of Russians so it's amazing that Viktor is anywhere near popular in JP fandom lol. More on stormy politics in chapter 3 lol 
> 
> Anyway, comments are greatly appreciated! No idea when the next update is; I've got a lot on my plate. But I really love this AU so!!


	3. i would run a thousand kilometers to meet you

****Life carries on, in its slow yet inexorable way.

Viktor goes back to work, walks Makkachin in the mornings and evenings. They go for jogs along the embankment of the Fontanka, and every time they pass Vladimirskaya Church Viktor pauses to look at the park bench where it had all began. He doesn’t visit the other spots he’d taken Yuuri — at least, not if he can help it. But once, he steps onto Potseluev Bridge and watches another couple share a kiss under the glow of Saint Isaac's Cathedral, and his heart clenches with the memory of Yuuri’s lips against his for the first time, soft and hesitant and beautiful.

Happily ever after seems to be dragging its heels, even though proof of it happening to him comes every couple of hours in the form of texts from Yuuri. Little hearts, sweet messages. The odd call, always leaving Viktor panting and gasping into his pillow after Yuuri hangs up, holding onto the memory of Yuuri’s voice curling against his ears. The distance between them seems so unnecessary, a hindrance to one of the best things in Viktor’s life right now. And as winter settles in all the more firmly during the months of December, the prospect of talking to Yuuri is sometimes the one thing that gets Viktor up in the morning.

And then one night — because of course it’s pitch black already despite it being only six in the evening — Viktor gets a call from Yuuri on his way home from work.

“Yuuri?” he asks when he picks up. “You don’t usually call when I’m on my way home.”

“ _I’ve got a surprise for you_ ,” replies Yuuri.

“A surprise,” echoes Viktor.

“ _Yeah, isn’t your birthday coming up soon_?”

Viktor pauses, checks his phone for the date. Sure enough, it’s the 24th. For a moment he blinks, trying to remember how he could have possibly forgotten, but all he can think of is:

“I completely forgot. Russians don’t usually celebrate Christmas in December.”

There’s a snorting noise. “ _Did you just compare yourself to Jesus Christ_?” asks Yuuri.

“It’s the only other way I could remember,” admits Viktor, chuckling a little as he makes his way to his metro stop. “But what’s your surprise? I’m dying to know.”

“ _Then go to the place where we first met_ ,” replies Yuuri, and Viktor can faintly hear some sort of chiming noise over the wind hitting the phone’s microphone.

He’s never sprinted out of a metro stop as fast as the one he left on the way to Vladimirskaya Church. With each step, his heart pounds impatiently, as if it wants to free itself from his ribcage and run ahead of him to the church.

But finally his feet catch up with his heart at the park in front of Vladimirskaya Church, and Viktor’s breath flees his chest when he sees a familiar figure sitting on a bench there, seemingly alone and bundled against the bitter December cold. Viktor gets closer, his heart in his throat, and the person looks up at him with a wide smile.

It’s Yuuri. His cheeks are rosy apples from the cold; he’s dressed in a navy jacket and tan scarf, with the hint of other layers underneath. Slowly, Viktor takes a seat next to Yuuri with a smile, unable to control his delight at having someone who brings him so much joy back by his side yet again.

“Come here often?” he jokes, turning to Yuuri, who flushes prettily before looking away.

“Not as much as I’d like,” he replies with a half-smile. “You’re not wrong — this city looks half-dead in the snow.”

Viktor laughs. “It only gets worse in March, I can assure you,” he says, sneaking his hand closer to Yuuri’s on the bench. Moments later the Crown Prince’s glove-clad fingers are entwined against his own, warm and sure.

“I came down here secretly,” he says quietly. “Phichit gave me a lift in his private jet so that we could spend your birthday together.”

Viktor doesn’t even know where to begin with that statement, so he settles for an intelligent “Phichit has a private jet?” instead.

“His family controls pretty much all of the media in Southeast Asia,” Yuuri points out. “You tend to get rather rich when you head a business that big.”

“I _knew_ that,” Viktor mutters. “But a _private jet_? Really? His _own_ jet?”

Yuuri laughs. “I had the same reaction,” he admits. “I mean, I don’t have a private jet, and I’m next in line for the throne. We have to ask the government to borrow the Japanese Air Force One if we want to go anywhere, and even then that’s just for official visits.”

“So you flew that to Saint Petersburg the last time you were here?” Viktor can’t help but tease, looking sidelong with barely-concealed glee at the flush creeping up Yuuri’s cheeks. The prince nods, pouting into his scarf as he does so, and Viktor can’t help but lean over and kiss said pout right off his face.

When he pulls back, Yuuri’s cheeks are still flushed, but this time from breathlessness. His lips are parted slightly, kiss-swollen and cherry red, and Viktor briefly runs his thumb along Yuuri’s lower lip before he kisses him again, longer but softer.

Yuuri sighs a little when they part, and then his gloved hand comes up to cup the side of Viktor’s face. “Will I ever stop missing you?” he wonders.

“I hope not,” teases Viktor. Someone walks past at that moment, and Yuuri quickly ducks his head against Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor chuckles at that, dusting some stray flakes of snow off Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Will you be missed back home?” he asks, before pausing. “Of course you will be. How did you give Minako the slip this time?”

“I said I’d be with Phichit in Thailand,” replies Yuuri, shrugging. “It’s just a couple of days, I’m afraid.”

“Somehow that feels like all the time in the world, and yet not enough,” admits Viktor, before he clambers back to his feet, extending a hand to Yuuri. “Also, there are a couple journalists who have taken flats across from mine in the hopes of catching you, so we’re going to have to be discreet.”

Yuuri chuckles as he rises to his feet as well, taking Viktor’s hand and leaning up slightly to kiss him, soft and sweet. “I’ve always wanted to be snuck into the back like a dirty little secret,” he jokes.

Viktor laughs. “Or I could just give you a duplicate key,” he says, “because I know just the place.”

* * *

It turns out that Viktor does, in fact, know someone who can duplicate a key while they wait, and so very soon Yuuri is setting out alone for Viktor’s apartment, under cover of darkness. He’s careful to keep his hat lodged on his head and his face obscured by his scarf, and hurriedly unlocks the door with his new set of keys before heading straight for the elevator going up to Viktor’s flat.

Makkachin greets him excitedly almost as soon as Yuuri opens the door. “Down, Makka,” Yuuri says, pushing into the apartment and closing the door behind him with a huff of relief. Makkachin licks at his hand as soon as he offers it, and Yuuri laughs.

Viktor had said that he would take a little longer to return to the flat, because he had to stop by the grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner. Yuuri had offered to make katsudon again, so this time Viktor had asked him to text him a list of ingredients. So with that in mind, Yuuri hangs up his coat and scarf and heads into the kitchen to take a quick inventory of the state of Viktor’s larder.

He’s not terribly surprised to find it almost as empty as it had been the last time he had been here, save for different bottles of alcohol and different boxes of take-out. Quickly listing out all of the ingredients that Viktor needed (that is to say, all of them) on a notepad, Yuuri sends him a picture of it before ignoring the text from Minako asking him if he’s enjoying Thailand.

He’s going to be in trouble when he returns, but already he knows it’ll be worth it. Makkachin curls up with him on the couch as he fires off a response to his cousin Chihoko’s text; after a moment the poodle falls asleep with his head in Yuuri’s lap. And since he doesn’t want to deprive Makkachin of his makeshift pillow, Yuuri decides right then and there that he’ll never move from the couch again.

That is, until the door to the flat opens again and both he and Makkachin are scrambling to answer it. Viktor steps in, a bagful of groceries in his arms and his hair and coat dusted with little flecks of snow. He kicks off his shoes and pads over to the kitchen counter with the bag, emptying out its contents with a rather apologetic look.

“I think I got everything, but the panko bread crumbs might be a little weird,” he says. Yuuri takes the packet with a shrug.

“I don’t know what brand my mother uses,” he admits. “Someone from the Kunaicho usually goes to get it for her.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “The Kunaicho do your _grocery shopping_ for you?” he asks.

Yuuri feels his cheeks heat up at how spoiled that sounds. “Yeah,” he mumbles, suddenly finding the packet of panko bread crumbs extremely interesting. “I mean, they determine the amount of money I get from the government every year, and they control my access to it, so…”

“Hold up a second.” Viktor reaches out, his hand warm and concerned against Yuuri’s. “You don’t have an independent source of income?”

Yuuri squirms. “...No?” he manages after a moment. “All the assets of the Imperial Household belong to the state. It’s been like that since… since my great-grandfather.”

Realisation dawns on Viktor’s face. “I see,” he says after a moment, and his expression softens. He steps forward, gently prising Yuuri’s hand from the packet of panko and raising it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. It’s a simple gesture, chaste compared to the other touches they’ve shared, but it makes Yuuri’s heart race just as hard as the deepest of kisses, the most intimate of caresses.

“I guess it’s better I told you now,” he says, as Viktor’s ice-blue eyes bore into his, sending butterflies quivering through his body. “You know… just in case you thought you’d date the Crown Prince of Japan for his money.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?” he wonders almost innocently, and Yuuri huffs, half-relieved and half-amused.

“I don’t know, it was just a thought,” he says, before bringing Viktor in by the nape of his neck to kiss him again.

They eventually get around to making the katsudon, Yuuri meticulously walking Viktor through every step of frying the cutlets and preparing the rice. Viktor doesn’t have a rice cooker, of course, so they have to make do with a saucepan, and Yuuri makes a mental note to ask his mother to recommend some rice cooker brands so he can send one to Viktor when he returns to Tokyo.

Though the government grants the members of the Imperial Family sizeable salaries each year, the costs of running the Imperial households usually eats up most of it. Yuuri has tried his best to be frugal with his personal expenses, which has led to a lot of comments in the papers about how he’s not even remotely as well-dressed as many other royal heirs around the world.

And now that he finally has someone he desperately wants to impress, it’s almost painful how obvious his inadequacies are. Viktor is so beautiful even as he pauses in his frying to wipe some sweat off his brow, and Yuuri can’t help but wonder how someone, who clearly has the looks to turn the head of anyone he wants, could possibly settle for someone as plain as him.

For a first attempt, their katsudon actually turns out quite well. The rice isn’t as soft as he’d like, and the cutlets aren’t as juicy as he remembers, but Viktor points out that there’s always other opportunities to perfect their technique, and next time Yuuri could go to the store with him.

“I’ve always wanted to see a grocery store,” Yuuri admits, hiding his blush in his bowl of rice. “I’m sorry if that sounds really stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” replies Viktor. “It’s actually kinda understandable, considering that you’ve never done your own shopping.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Yuuri shoves some of the rice around with his fork, gnawing at his lip. “My mother taught me and Mari how to shop, but I don’t think she ever thought we’d need to do it ourselves.”

“How is Mari?” asks Viktor. “Your sister, right?”

Yuuri nods. “She’s fine,” he says, looking over at the counter where he’d left his phone. “She probably does her own shopping now. And driving, too! I don’t know how to drive.”

Viktor snorts. “I barely do,” he replies. “I’d be a terrible teacher.”

Yuuri laughs. “Takeshi offered to teach me once or twice, but I never saw the point. At least, not until now.” There were so many things about commoner life that he’d only picked up in theoretical little tidbits, as everyone who ever taught him something ordinary had always assumed he’d have no actual need for it. And yet here he is, feeling woefully unprepared for these couple of days as a commoner again.

Maybe it’d be easier if Viktor moved to Tokyo, so he could have more chances to practice at it. The thought simultaneously exhilarates and terrifies him.

Once they’re done eating, Viktor does the dishes, though Yuuri tries to help and only succeeds in nearly dropping two of the bowls and getting a bit of soap into his eyes. Viktor laughs at that, and presses a cloth into Yuuri’s hands with instructions to dry the dishes and set them as neatly as possible on the drying rack instead.

That’s a little easier, but Yuuri feels a little twinge of embarrassment all the same. “I’m sorry I’m rubbish at all of this commoner stuff,” he mumbles as he wipes down the very same bowls he had almost dropped earlier.

Viktor snorts. “No one expects you to be perfect at it, Yuuri,” he points out.

“Yeah, but…” Yuuri trails off, sighing. “I wish this could come to me easier, you know.”

“I know your mother taught you all of this, but if you rarely have the opportunity to practice, you can’t expect to be good,” replies Viktor, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of Yuuri’s head. “Maybe you should come visit me more often, then? Get some more opportunities to practice your cooking and dishwashing.”

Maybe it’s the remnants of the soap, maybe it’s the lump in his throat, but Yuuri suddenly feels the sting of tears in his eyes, and he jerks his forearm up to wipe them away as quickly as he can. “I’d love to,” he mumbles. “It’s just really hard to get away.”

“I know.” Viktor hands him the last dish, and Yuuri wipes it down without a problem. “See, you’re already so good at this!”

Yuuri snorts. “Don’t patronise me,” he says, but he tugs Viktor in closer by the hem of his shirt and raises himself up on tiptoes to kiss him all the same.

That quickly proves to be simultaneously the best and worst idea of his life, as moments after their lips meet Yuuri finds the kitchen counter digging into his back as Viktor presses him against it, fingers tangled into the hairs of his nape as their lips crush together hard and wet and wanting. Almost unconsciously his legs fall open to let Viktor slide between; his head tilts back to give Viktor better access to his neck.

Viktor is hard and demanding against him, each one of his kisses sparking a flame in Yuuri’s blood until he is ablaze for Viktor’s touch. With a soft moan he finds himself being hoisted onto the counter properly, Viktor leaning in to nip a line of kisses against his neck as his hands tease along the hem of Yuuri’s T-shirt.

His own hands have just popped the button on the collar of Viktor’s shirt, however, when the other man gives a very undignified yelp and lurches forward, slamming the back of Yuuri’s head against one of the cabinets. Once the painful stars have cleared from his eyes, Yuuri looks down to see Viktor chastising a very contrite-looking Makkachin who has his lead in his mouth.

“Bad dog,” Viktor huffs. “Look what you did to Yuuri!” And he looks over at Yuuri, worry crinkling at his brow. “Are you all right?”

Yuuri swallows, rubbing at his nape. “Could be worse,” he manages, before leaping down from the counter. “Does Makkachin want to be walked?”

Viktor sighs, scratching his poodle behind the ears. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go this time.” He jerks his head towards the windows. “Reporters.”

“Right.” Yuuri laughs. “I didn’t know you’d have such a low opinion of your own colleagues.”

Viktor gapes at him for a moment, before shaking his head with a grin. “I probably shouldn’t even call them reporters,” he says. “They’re more like sharks around a bucket of chum, waiting for the juiciest news tidbit to show up.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “And you weren’t doing something similar in your articles?”

“The people I wrote about usually had something to hide,” replies Viktor. “The worst thing _you_ have to hide is me, right?”

Yuuri hates that it’s true. Hates that despite being confirmed in the eyes of everyone except the Kunaicho, they still have to treat their relationship as something secretive, something to be tucked away once the weekend ends and they return to their normal lives. Viktor’s life is never going to be the same now that they’re together — now that he’s dipped a toe into the life of a public figure by becoming the Crown Prince’s boyfriend.

But he says none of that aloud as he leans up to kiss Viktor, soft and chaste. “Go walk Makkachin,” he whispers when they break apart, his breath tickling against Viktor’s skin. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Despite his best efforts, however, Yuuri doesn’t actually manage to wait up for Viktor and Makkachin’s return from their walk. Exhaustion seeps through him almost as soon as he settles on the couch and turns on the TV; coupled with the news story currently playing about President Baranovskaya’s plans to visit Prime Minister Matsudaira in January, it only takes a couple of minutes for his head to loll and his vision to blur as he falls asleep.

It only feels like minutes later when he feels himself being gently prodded awake. Yuuri rubs his eyes blearily to see the apartment darkened and shadowy. Makkachin is asleep in his bed, and Viktor’s form, now dressed down in just pyjama bottoms, is silhouetted in the light from his bedroom as he presses a soft T-shirt into Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri takes it, not quite sure what to do with it before Viktor sighs and scoops him up, carrying him with some effort from the living room into the bedroom.

Slowly, gently, Viktor sets him on the bed and begins to undress him. Yuuri’s limbs are too much like molasses to be of much use alone, so he lets Viktor do so, only raising his arms and hips to help the process along. Once his clothes are put to the side and he’s clad in Viktor’s old T-shirt, Yuuri quickly burrows beneath the covers, feeling the mattress dip as Viktor goes to join him.

“Jetlag’s a bitch, huh?” Viktor asks, his voice low and gentle against the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri hums, not sure if he can trust his language skills at the moment. Viktor chuckles.

“Sleep, my dear. We’re going to be visiting my parents tomorrow, so you’ll need your energy.”

Yuuri hums again, leaning in to kiss him. Viktor’s lips taste like his mint toothpaste, and his arms and chest are solid and warm around Yuuri as he burrows in against his side. With a soft sigh, Yuuri closes his eyes, entangling their fingers together before he lets sleep claim him once more.

* * *

Viktor visits his parents at least three times a year. Once for his father’s birthday, once for his mother’s, and once for his.

This morning dawns like any other birthday from the years before, as Viktor wakes to a text from his mother asking him what time she should expect him at their apartment. He turns, looking at Yuuri’s still-sleeping form beside him, and feels the slow warmth of happiness seep through his veins.

 _Eleven_ , he replies. _And I’m bringing someone_.

It doesn’t even take a minute before she calls him. Viktor picks up, just in time for his mother’s excited squeal to rattle through his ears. “ _Vitenka_!” she screams, even as he holds the receiver away to prevent significant hearing loss. “ _Is it him? Is it the prince?_ ”

“Mama!” he groans, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “You’re going to wake him!”

“ _It_ is _the prince, right? The cute one that you’re seeing according to the news? You never tell us anything, so I had to do my own digging_.” Ekaterina Nikiforova’s voice, though now pitched a little quieter, is still no less excited. “ _Oh Vitenka, I’m so happy for you! But next time you should tell your mama yourself when someone new comes into your life!_ ”

“I’m sorry, I was busy,” says Viktor.

“ _You always say that_ ,” Mama chides. “ _Oh well, no worries. You’re coming today, right? And the prince is coming too, right? Will we need to make more food? Better food? We could break out the caviar_ —”

“He’s not a big fan of caviar,” says Viktor. “And his name is Yuuri.”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” says Mama, nodding. “ _He looks like such a darling in his press photos_.”

Viktor wants to say he looks even better in the candids on his phone, but then he remembers that he never showed his mother any of those photos, so he laughs in agreement and looks down at Yuuri, who has stirred a little at the excitement, his long lashes fluttering against lightly tanned skin.

“Don’t go out of your way to do anything fancy for him, Mama,” he says. “He’ll like it better if he’s treated normally, I think.”

“ _So like one of the family_ ,” she says, and Viktor can hear the suggestive wink in her tone.

He groans. “If you’re going to put it that way,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “We’ll see you and Papa at eleven, okay?”

“ _Yes, of course_ ,” she replies. “ _And put on something nice. Your royal boyfriend needs to know you’re descended from princes yourself_ , you know.”

Viktor rolls his eyes again. His mother always loved to bring up the Yusupov side of the family whenever they had someone to impress. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “See you later.” And he hangs up, just in time to feel Yuuri’s hand come to rest on his chest.

“Who was that?” asks Yuuri, resting his chin on Viktor’s shoulder with a thoughtful hum.

Viktor chuckles, leaning in to kiss his prince good morning. “My mother,” he replies when he pulls back.

“Oh,” replies Yuuri, returning the kiss with a soft little sigh. “Didn’t you say we were seeing her today?”

“Yup,” replies Viktor. “I usually visit my parents for lunch on my birthday. Sometimes dinner, too, if they have enough vodka to keep me there longer.”

Yuuri laughs at that. “Is vodka the only reason?” he teases, one of his fingers tracing the curve of Viktor’s cheek before running along his lips. Viktor darts his tongue out to lick it, causing Yuuri’s cheeks to tint bright pink. “I can’t imagine only visiting my parents for their booze.”

“No, you visit your parents for the katsudon,” replies Viktor, and Yuuri giggles at that, nodding.

“And the speeches, sometimes,” he points out. “I have to attend all the big speeches that my father makes, after all.”

“Right, how could I ever forget about the speeches.” Viktor pulls Yuuri in closer, burying his nose in his boyfriend’s hair. It’s not that he’s not on good terms with his parents, of course. He knows they love him, and he knows he loves them.

But sometimes their way of showing their love involves shipping him off to boarding school in Switzerland, which isn’t exactly conducive to fostering closeness between a child and their parent. No amount of world-class education can make up for that.

Still, there’s no avoiding the inevitable, and besides, Viktor has always enjoyed his parents’ cooking. So he hauls himself out of the bed with a groan, a shiver of pride running through him when he notices how Yuuri’s eyes follow him across the room to his closet.

“Did you bring something presentable to wear?” he calls, and Yuuri blanches slightly.

It seems that Yuuri, while he had brought a small duffel bag of clothes, had not packed a suit for something fancier, having evidently anticipated spending his Christmas tucked into a flat with Viktor. It takes a little digging, but eventually they manage to find the clothes that Viktor had bought him in June, plus a thick charcoal cardigan and his coat, hat, and scarf. The prince also pulls on a face mask to better hide his face from prying paparazzi on the way to the nearest metro stop to take them to Viktor’s parents’ flat.

Ilya and Ekaterina Nikiforov live in the eastern corner of the central district, in a little apartment building that overlooks the Tauride Gardens. Yuuri has never been to this part of town, and he almost collides with several commuters again as he looks around him on the escalators up out of the Chernyshevskaya metro station. Viktor takes his hand once they hit the pavement, and they head down the snow-covered streets towards the Tauride Palace and its gardens.

The trees are bare and the gulls are silent, but there’s still something lively in the press of the crowd in the streets, in the chiming of church bells and the rumbling of trams and buses. Yuuri nearly slips on an icy patch in the sidewalk, though Viktor is quick to steady him. Off in the distance there’s the excited yelling of children playing in the snowdrifts in the garden, or skating on the frozen ponds tucked just out of sight.

“We should go skating,” Yuuri says suddenly, his hand curling tight in Viktor’s, and Viktor can’t help but laugh at that.

“You’re not scared of being recognised?” he teases.

“People will be too busy skating to care,” retorts Yuuri, narrowly avoiding a collision with a kid’s hastily-piled snowman along the side of the road. Viktor chuckles, pulling Yuuri closer to him as he spies his parents’ apartment building looming up in the distance.

Yuuri fidgets a little when they reach the front door, Viktor buzzing for his parents to let him in. The door clicks to admit them moments later, and Yuuri shuffles bashfully along in Viktor’s wake as they enter the reception area. The security guard posted just inside nods at them as they pass by his window; Viktor flashes him a sunny smile as he calls for the elevator.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, as the elevator takes its sweet time heading down to the ground floor, “do you think they’ll like me?”

Viktor almost laughs at that. Almost. “Very few people would not like you, Yuuri,” he says, taking his hand and rubbing soothing circles against his woolen knit gloves. “You’re so full of life and love; there’s no way my parents won’t fall for you.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yuuri scuffs his shoes against the old worn tile, his eyes downcast. “I mean, besides the prince thing I’m not that special.”

Viktor wants to know who told Yuuri such a lie when he was a kid, so he could find them and punch them in the face. As it is, he settles for reaching up and cupping Yuuri’s cheeks, looking into his eyes and hoping his gaze can convey the depth of his emotions.

“Even if you weren’t a prince, I still would’ve been drawn to you,” he says, before leaning in and kissing his forehead. “And I swear, you’re going to do just fine.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath, as the elevator carriage finally slides into place with a _ding_! and the grille in front of them retracts. Viktor steps inside, extending his hand for Yuuri to follow, before pressing the button for the fifth floor.

Yuuri burrows against his side on the way up.

* * *

Yuuri’s still a remarkable ball of nerves by the time the elevator deposits them at the fifth floor of the apartment building. Here, there’s only two apartments, one facing the rear, and one facing the front. Viktor heads towards the door facing the front, and rings the doorbell.

The door swings open almost immediately, and Yuuri is struck with the image of… well. He isn’t sure what he had expected, but Mrs Nikiforova isn’t exactly it.

(Still, that makes a lot of sense. Viktor had always defied expectations; of course his mother would, too.)

It’s clear that Viktor had inherited her hair colour and her smile, as well as the infectious enthusiasm she exudes in spades as she beams and wrings Yuuri’s hand as though she’s trying to yank it out of its socket. Viktor makes a couple ineffectual splutters on his behalf, but otherwise Mrs Nikiforova goes unchallenged in her attempt to welcome Yuuri.

“Your Highness,” she says, before making a soft gasp at her son. “Or should I call him Yuuri?” she asks in a stage whisper. Viktor’s face is tinged a mortified red at this point as he shoots a helpless look at Yuuri, who laughs nervously, shaking her hand briefly before retracting his own immediately behind his back.

“Yuuri’s fine,” he says, bowing more or less out of habit. She makes a small gasp, and bobs her head as well when he comes out of it.

“Oh, yes, I forgot that in Japan you guys don’t really shake hands,” she says. “I’m sorry about that; I should’ve known better!”

Yuuri’s not sure what to say to that, so he fixates on the brooch pinned to the lapel of the dress she’s wearing under her flour-dusted apron. “Your brooch is beautiful,” he says, and she laughs, patting it proudly.

“It’s a family heirloom! Passed down from my father’s side of the family, the Yusupovs — they were once Russian nobility, you know.”

“Impressive,” replies Yuuri, as Mrs Nikiforova finally steps back and lets them into the flat. He turns, noticing that Viktor looks particularly dismayed by his mother’s comment about the family’s former noble status, and swallows at that.

If Viktor’s balking at the slightest mention of past nobility, then what would he say to becoming an Imperial consort?

But he doesn’t comment on it as Viktor takes his coat and leads him into the living room, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa. A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a matching, neatly-trimmed beard is sitting in the armchair across from the sofa with a newspaper dangling in his hands. A set of half-moon spectacles sit on his nose, and his eyes are the same icy blue as Viktor’s when he fixes Yuuri with a piercing gaze.

“You must be Yuuri,” he says cheerily, smiling as he folds the paper and sets it aside on the ottoman next to a tray with a mug of tea perched on it. His voice is soft, very dissimilar to his wife’s effusive loudness, as he stands up to bow his greetings. “I am Ilya, Viktor’s father.”

“Nice to meet you,” replies Yuuri, bowing briefly before taking his seat.

“Would you like something to drink?” asks Mr Nikiforov.

“Tea would be fine,” says Yuuri, looking around at the bookshelves lined with numerous books bearing Russian and English titles, the oddly-scattered houseplants in carefully-nursed shades of jewel greens, and the various framed photographs and press clippings of Viktor’s stories.

There’s no doubt Viktor had been loved, even if it seems to be at a distance. Neither Ilya nor Ekaterina seem to have the foggiest idea what to do with their son besides mention all the things that had happened to him that he never tells them about directly. As she pours the two of them mugs of tea, Mrs Nikiforova clucks her tongue about Viktor failing to tell her until this morning that Yuuri was coming to visit, and Viktor makes some vague apologies in return.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” he says, “but I’ll try to update you two more often.”

“You say that all the time,” Mrs Nikiforova chides. “It’s a good thing your Papa made extras of his syrniki. Otherwise there wouldn’t be enough to go around.”

“I don’t mind —” Yuuri begins, but then is cut off by Mrs Nikiforova’s intense little glare. It reminds him of the expression Viktor uses when he’s concentrating on something, which is not necessarily an association he wants to make at this very moment.

“You _must_ be fed something before we let you go,” Mrs Nikiforova determines, tapping her lips with one finger. “Vitya rarely ever cooks, so I imagine you haven’t enjoyed any Russian home-cooked meals yet.”

“No, but we made _katsudon_ ,” Viktor bites out.

“I don’t see you bringing any of it,” replies his mother.

Yuuri looks over at Viktor’s father, who has returned to burying his face in the paper in a way that suggests he’s not actually reading anything on the page in front of him. He feels tempted to check his phone — surely Phichit must have texted him something interesting right now, in between all of his screaming about some k-pop band he’s been following for the past year.

(He’s pretty sure Phichit’s actually more interested in the group’s manager rather than any of the members themselves, but that’s a different story.)

But just before he takes out his phone, Viktor and his mother seem to remember their audience. Mrs Nikiforova’s smile goes wide and apologetic and she beams at Yuuri. “My apologies, Yuuri,” she says. “Vitenka and I have a lot of catching up to do, it seems. May I borrow him for some kitchen duty? I have to finish my borscht.”

And without even waiting for an answer she is tugging her son into the kitchen, rapid-fire and mildly argumentative Russian trailing in their wake. Once they’re gone, though, Mr Nikiforov looks up from his paper and chuckles.

“I just make the syrniki and the pirozhki and leave,” he confesses.

“This is a yearly occasion?” Yuuri asks, nodding towards the kitchen.

“I fear Katya tends to bring out the argumentative side in Vitenka,” replies Mr Nikiforov. “It’s been like that since we sent him off to Le Rosey when he was seven. In hindsight, though, perhaps that wasn’t what he needed as a kid.”

Yuuri hums. “Perhaps,” he agrees, leaning back against the sofa and sipping at his tea. Viktor’s own mug sits on the coffee table, still gently steaming with the spoonful of jam still inside. From the kitchen, the argument seems to have softened; after a moment of listening in Mr Nikiforov hums and picks up his paper again.

“It never lasts long,” he says. “We just want Vitenka to talk to us more, but all things considered it’s probably our own fault for not spending more time with him as a kid.”

“Was it work?” asks Yuuri. Mr Nikiforov nods.

“Don’t let Katya’s soft exterior fool you, Yuuri — she used to run Petrograd Shipping, one of the biggest import-export companies in the country even after the fall of the Soviet Union. A lot of people tended to assume I was running the business, but I was just her accountant.”

Yuuri chuckles a little. “More than just an accountant, though,” he points out. “You married her, after all.”

Mr Nikiforov laughs at that. “My mother visited Berlin a lot, and she’d bring me along. So I used to smuggle Katya contraband books in English when we were classmates,” he replies, and Yuuri raises an eyebrow at that. Somehow, that marriage could arise from such a strange connection is a little less surprising for him now, given how he and Viktor had met.

Viktor pokes his head out of the kitchen at that moment, leaning against the doorframe. He’s covered in what seems to be either powdered sugar or flour, and his fringe has been clipped back from his face, exposing his high forehead and his bright eyes. His smile softens when he sees Yuuri, and Yuuri brings him his tea before he’s even really cognisant of his actions.

“Thank you,” says Viktor quietly, sipping his tea with both hands clutching the mug. Yuuri leans in closer to him, peering past him into the kitchen where Mrs Nikiforova is finishing up the preparations for lunch. Besides the syrniki and the pirozhki there is a tureen of borscht and a chocolate cake, all served up on nice china.

With a flourish, Mrs Nikiforova finishes piping out something onto the cake and leans back, smiling at Yuuri. “You two should freshen up a little for lunch,” she says, and Viktor nods, tugging Yuuri back through the living room and down a hallway to a well-appointed powder room.

They wash their hands in companionable silence, Viktor carefully unclipping his hair and brushing the silky silver strands back into place. Yuuri fumbles his fingers through his hair briefly, watching the line of Viktor’s throat as the man preens in the mirror for a little longer, and then smiles at Yuuri.

“Did you want to see my childhood bedroom?” he asks when they step back into the hallway, gesturing to a door that has clearly been repainted. “Not that there’s much, since I moved everything out and they turned it into a guest bedroom, but still.”

Yuuri nods, so Viktor opens the door into a sleek white room with minimalist white bedding and a large framed print of the SVQ cover for Viktor’s exposé on European government surveillance.

“I don’t know if that’s going to help guests sleep at night,” Yuuri remarks, gesturing to the print. Viktor laughs, stepping over to the window and looking out; when Yuuri follows him he can see the kids playing in the Tauride Gardens across the street.

“There used to be a desk here,” he says. Yuuri looks at the little ottoman table and the sleek wicker chair in its place, and can’t help but feel a small sense of loss curling in his chest.

“Did you use that typewriter?” he jokes, nodding to the Remington placed on top of the silvery bureau on the adjoining wall, next to the mirrored door leading into a little closet. Viktor looks over and shakes his head, laughing.

“That was probably my parents’ from their school days,” he says. “Papa probably told you about the smuggled books.”

“Rule-breaking seems to run in your family,” replies Yuuri, and Viktor’s expression is so soft and warm when he looks down at him that he can’t help but lean in, inhaling the bakery aroma that still clings to the crook of Viktor’s neck. Viktor sighs, eyes fluttering shut, and Yuuri presses a kiss to his jaw.

Their lips meet moments later, and Yuuri feels something indescribably happy clenching in his heart as Viktor’s hands come around his waist. Even this time last year he wouldn’t have imagined himself here, kissing a boyfriend in the window of his childhood bedroom. Viktor had opened up an entire world of possibility, an entire new line of thinking.

Rebellion had never felt so terribly _right_ before.

After what surely had to have been a decade compressed into the space of two minutes, they break apart, and Viktor cards his hair through Yuuri’s hair with fingers as soft as his gaze. Yuuri’s stomach flips; he burrows his nose against Viktor’s triangle-patterned turtleneck, longing for nothing more than to bury himself in Viktor’s arms and never emerge again.

But they eventually make it back to the dining room, which has been set up for a birthday lunch in their absence. Mr Nikiforov has moved his tea and paper to the head of the table; Viktor pulls out Yuuri’s seat for him before sitting next to him, and Mrs Nikiforova takes the remaining spot as she brings out the food.

Lunch passes in a pleasant blur, to the tune of soft Tchaikovsky music playing in the background and the gentle clink of silverware against porcelain. After lunch comes the syrniki and the cake, both exceedingly rich and sweet. Mrs Nikiforova keeps plying Yuuri with more food, until he insists that he can’t eat another bite.

“Do you still have the old skates?” Viktor asks his father after the dishes have been taken back and cleaned up. Yuuri had been barred from helping out, on account of being a guest, but he hovers by the kitchen island all the same, admiring the sage-coloured cabinets and the little muslin curtains hanging on the windows. A crowded planter box full of herbs sits on the sill, having evidently been moved in from the little snow-covered patio just off the dining room.

“They should be in the closet,” says Mr Nikiforov. “Are you two going out to the gardens?”

“Yeah,” says Viktor, already halfway out the kitchen.

“Come back soon, though,” suggests Mrs Nikiforova. “We’ll have some hot chocolate ready, if you’d like.”

Yuuri isn’t sure if he can handle anything sweet for the rest of the month, but he doesn’t say that as Viktor helps him back into his coat and then fishes a set of skates out of the hall closet. Yuuri wraps his scarf tight around the lower half of his face, too, before heading to the door to don his boots.

They’re halfway down the stairs when Yuuri looks over at Viktor with a raised eyebrow. “Le Rosey?” he asks. “Your parents really downplay their wealth, huh.”

“They’re not into showing off, if that’s what you mean,” replies Viktor, chuckling. Yuuri hums, linking his arm with Viktor’s as they head out to the gardens.

The pond at the Tauride Gardens is full of skaters. A group of young children are playing shinny under the supervision of their parents on the nearby park benches, their laughter bright in the afternoon air as they try to wrest the puck from one another. On the sloping hills nearby other kids are sledding, building snowmen, having snowball fights — a picture-perfect winter wonderland that takes Yuuri’s breath away.

“We could go into the rink by the greenhouse, if this is too crowded for you,” Viktor says as they watch the crowd circling the pond and around the canals.

“No, this is fine,” says Yuuri, already unlacing his boots. “Which of the skates am I using?”

Viktor hands him the smaller pair, before moving to put on the other set. The set Yuuri holds are white, and probably belong to Viktor’s mother. To his surprise, they fit rather well.

“She has pretty big feet,” says Viktor as he laces up his own set. “My dad’s are just a little bigger.”

“I should have just brought my own skates,” Yuuri laments.

“You probably didn’t anticipate this,” replies Viktor, heading out onto the ice with a little wobble. Yuuri lurches forward, but Viktor recovers himself quickly and flashes him a brilliant smile, extending a hand.

Gliding onto the ice with Viktor’s hand tight in his is like heaven. He can’t go very far or very fast, having to keep an eye out for the other people on the ice as well as Viktor lagging slightly behind him, but he can still go a decent pace along the canals that surround the small islands on the pond. Viktor, while he’s capable of skating along, looks a bit wide-eyed with apprehension as Yuuri steers them through the other skaters.

“Did you pick up skating at Le Rosey?” wonders Yuuri.

Viktor laughs. “No, earlier than that,” he replies. “It’s just been a while.”

Yuuri hums, and they continue along in a warm, companionable silence for a moment longer. Some of the parents call their kids back to leave; other people arrive with their kids. Yuuri keeps his eyes peeled for anyone who might recognise him, but it’s hard to tell in this crowd, especially when he’s wearing a hat and scarf to obscure his face.

But eventually Viktor tires, and pulls Yuuri back to their bench. “That’s enough for me,” he declares, already undoing the laces on his skates. Yuuri can’t help the pout on his face in response as he drops Viktor’s hand and skates backward a little.

“That’s fine,” he says. “You can watch me for a bit.”

Viktor’s eyes twinkle, as if he had always intended this, and Yuuri feels his cheeks heat up as he takes a couple more laps around the pond. Already the light is starting to fade, and families are packing up to go home. The pond is crisscrossed with the scratches from the kids’ skates, but Yuuri tries not to let the bumps get to him as he picks up speed.

It’s only when the pond is occupied by only a couple couples and an old man doing spread eagles and spins that Yuuri launches into his double Axel, his landing a little shaky but still on one leg. He rarely does jumps even at his own private rink, but the wide-eyed appreciation from Viktor makes him feel as if he’d gladly do twenty more.

“That was beautiful!” Viktor cheers as Yuuri finally pulls up to the bench and sits down next to him to undo his skate laces. “You know, I’d have bought your story of being a figure skater back in June if you’d done that.”

“Does that mean you didn’t believe that story in the first place?” wonders Yuuri, and Viktor’s cheeks flush pink. Yuuri bumps their shoulders together briefly, chuckling at Viktor’s flustered expression.

“In my defense, it was really difficult to buy it with a news broadcast about you playing in the background at the same time,” he points out.

Yuuri swallows. “Point,” he concedes, before busying himself again with taking off his skates and getting back into his boots. Halfway through, however, Viktor kneels down in front of him, his silver fringe obscuring his face as he helps Yuuri lace up his boots again.

“So we can get back to my parents’ flat faster,” he explains, though the breath already is fleeing from Yuuri’s lungs the longer Viktor remains on his knees in front of him. Viktor’s blue eyes sparkle in the Saint Petersburg twilight, and Yuuri’s suddenly reminded of the White Nights, of Viktor’s hand warm against his skin as they watch the bridges rising from the upper deck of the river cruise.

He’s leaning in to kiss Viktor before he even knows it, his hands cupping Viktor’s face as their lips meet. Viktor sighs into the kiss, his mouth opening against Yuuri’s, and for a moment Yuuri forgets the chill of the winter air as heat courses through him. When they break apart, Viktor’s face seems as flushed and breathless as Yuuri feels, his lips as bright as his cheeks.

Yuuri’s sure he’s never wanted anything so desperately in his life before. But the world cuts in around them, loud and jarring in their momentary idyll, and with a sigh he clambers to his feet and extends a hand to help Viktor up. His boyfriend stumbles a little on his feet, but steadies himself against Yuuri with a small chuckle.

Together they gather their skates, and head out of the garden arm in arm.

* * *

**marissa98** some dude did a really cool jump at #tauridegardens #stpetersburg

_liked by phichit+chu, the-royalistas, and 4321 others_

> **iluvhihyuuri** #crownprincesdayoff take two?
> 
> **pink-petals** how can u even tell its him
> 
> **iluvhihyuuri** would @phichit+chu like a video of a rando skating in spb?
> 
> **kashikaze** @iluvhihyuuri CREEEEASE

* * *

Viktor gets a small brown paper package with his mug of hot chocolate.

“We never really know what to get you, so the gift receipt is there if you want to return it,” says Mama, her hands folded in her lap as she perches on the sofa next to him and Yuuri. Yuuri says he left his present for Viktor in his bags, and Viktor is personally more excited to see that than what is in this parcel. But that would be unfair, so he rips open the wrapping with a smile.

He realises what it is almost as soon as he sees the first corner. It’s _The Silent Chrysanthemums_ in English, that picture of Yuuri on a small lacquered bridge in a blue kimono beaming all-too-innocently up at him. Next to him he feels Yuuri shift, and he looks up at his parents with a smile he doesn’t quite feel.

“Thank you,” he says, hugging the book to his chest.

“Is it… is it an accurate book?” wonders Mama, her gaze flickering over to where Yuuri sits pensively sipping at his hot chocolate. “We didn’t know, and we thought you’d want to read about it — but if it’s bad, there’s the receipt so you can return it —”

“It’s fine,” says Yuuri, his gaze downcast as he fiddles with the handle of his mug. “I’ve never actually read it myself. They effectively banned it in Japan.”

“Really?” asks Mama, her eyes wide. “Why?”

“The press don’t like publishing anything critical of the Imperial Family,” Viktor cuts in. “Their Imperial Household Agency controls the family image very carefully.”

“They didn’t talk about my uncle Prince Takamatsu’s battle with cancer until after he died of it,” agrees Yuuri, smiling at Mama as if trying to reassure her that she’d done nothing wrong. “And I’m pretty sure the reporter who wrote the novel did his research; I remember Minako being angry about the sources who’d been interviewed for that book.”

“I bet our Vitenka could write a better book about it,” Papa offers from his armchair, grinning. Viktor feels his cheeks heating up as he sneaks a sidelong glance at Yuuri, whose cheeks are also a little pink at the idea.

“It almost happened,” he admits after a moment. “But I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it without his permission anymore.”

Yuuri squeezes his hand at that, and Mama makes a small cooing noise that she hides with a gulp of hot chocolate. Viktor resists the urge to roll his eyes as he folds the paper back over the book, and picks up his own mug.

They end up staying for dinner, though the fare is light, and Mama insists he take an entire box of leftover cake back to their apartment. Yuuri helps him hold the boxes on the metro, burrowing against his shoulder with a small, blissful smile on his face.

“Tired?” Viktor asks when they get off at Vladimirskaya, heading up out of the metro stop in front of the old church. The bustle is a little more noticeable in this part of the city, though it’s still relatively peaceful at this hour beneath the gentle golden glow of the streetlamps. In the distance a dog barks, reminding Viktor of the fact that he still has to take poor Makkachin out.

Yuuri yawns. “Not really,” he says.

Viktor laughs, putting an arm around him as they head back to his flat.

They only pause to drop off the cake and the book before they’re taking Makkachin back out into the winter night. Halfway down to the Fontanka it begins to snow, soft little flurries of white dusting across Yuuri’s nose and beanie. Viktor wants to kiss the snowflakes from his face, wants to wrap him in his arms and keep him warm. But Yuuri beats him to the punch, leaning up to bump their noses together as his hand sneaks around Viktor’s waist.

“Happy birthday, Viktor,” he says. “And I’d say Merry Christmas, too, if you celebrated it today.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be Shinto?” asks Viktor.

Yuuri laughs at that. “It’s just words,” he points out. Makkachin tugs at the lead then, clearly wanting to wander off, so Yuuri has to step away in order to follow the dog. Viktor can’t help but chuckle at that, jogging a little to keep up with Yuuri’s surprised stumbling after his overager poodle.

“It’s not that funny,” Yuuri chides when Makkachin’s curiosity is sated at the base of a fire hydrant. “Vicchan doesn’t pull like that when I walk him.”

“Vicchan is a toy poodle,” Viktor points out. “You could walk him in a purse if you really wanted to.”

Yuuri snorts. “I guess,” he concedes, as Makkachin leaves a present at the side of the hydrant. Viktor picks it up, of course, noticing how Yuuri’s nose wrinkles as he tosses the baggie in the nearest trash can.

“I’m guessing the Kunaicho take Vicchan out for you?” he asks.

Yuuri’s cheeks colour. “No comment,” he says, and Viktor laughs.

They head back to the apartment soon after that. Viktor fills Makkachin’s bowls, though the old dog only takes a couple cursory nibbles before curling up on his bed. Yuuri disappears into the bedroom for a moment, before returning with his own little parcel in a black tote bag labelled in silvery kanji.

Viktor raises an eyebrow as he takes it. Yuuri blushes brightly in the dim light of the living room, rocking back and forth and worrying his lips with his teeth as he looks up at Viktor. It’s an endearing sight; Viktor quickly saves the expression to his memories before he takes out the little black box and opens it.

The black lacquered fountain pen sitting inside glints up at him with a small, loving twinkle. Viktor swallows, taking the pen out gingerly and feeling the heft of it in his hand, admiring the shine of the silver snowflake panels detailed along the barrel and cap. There’s no way in hell that this is a cheap pen, and Yuuri’s nervousness is suddenly quite understandable.

But there’s also no way in hell that Viktor would ever hate anything Yuuri gives him, because clearly Yuuri has put thought into this. Has picked out something that he hopes Viktor will like despite their relatively limited contact with one another. It’s extremely flashy for a first birthday gift, but Viktor treasures it all the same.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs, revelling in the soft click of the pen cap on the barrel. Yuuri smiles brightly, watching Viktor gently set the pen back in its case and close it with a snap.

“I’m sorry, I left the gift receipt in Tokyo,” he jokes.

“Yuuri, please. I would never return something as beautiful as that.” Viktor sets the bag down on the kitchen table, pulling his prince closer with a sudden hammering in his heart. “Would you like to know just how much I appreciate it?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, before looking over towards the bedroom. “Tell me more,” he suggests, and Viktor is all too glad to comply.

It’s afterwards, when they’re curled up in bed together, that Viktor finally brings up the thought of happily ever after.

“What do you want me to be to you?” he asks quietly, as he cards his hands through Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri stirs from where he’d been lying on Viktor’s chest, idly tracing his fingers around one nipple. Viktor shivers a little, remembering the softness of Yuuri’s tongue against it just minutes ago.

Slowly, the prince raises himself onto his elbows, grinding his ass back against Viktor’s softening cock as if he’d like to jolt it back to attention again. It’s surprisingly effective.

(Viktor had no idea his refractory period could be so short.)

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks. “Aren’t we dating?”

Viktor thinks back to the kiss in the gardens of Akasaka, and reaches up to cup Yuuri’s cheek with a smile. Said smile quickly melts into a moan when he feels Yuuri’s cock brush against his again, sparking heat curling low in his gut.

“Yeah,” he bites out around another moan. “But I was wondering, you know, if that’s all there will be.”

Yuuri hums, rolling his hips again. Viktor wants to lose himself in the moment — he can tell Yuuri wants him to, given how he’s already reaching down to make sure he’s still loose from their last round — but he grits his teeth and puts his hands on Yuuri’s hips, stilling him briefly.

“I just wanted to know how long-term you were anticipating this to be,” he admits. Yuuri’s fingers dig into his skin as he raises himself up, his other hand reaching between them to stroke Viktor’s cock to full hardness again. Viktor’s breath flees him; his own fingers wander down to skim along the backside of Yuuri’s thighs until they’re cupping the swell of his ass.

Yuuri’s eyes shine dark and beautiful in the half-light. “As long as you will have me, Viktor,” he says quietly, reaching over to the nightstand for the condoms and the lube. He tears the foil with his teeth, rolling it down swiftly along Viktor’s length before slicking it further and lining it up with himself. Viktor’s certain he’s never going to get used to such an exquisite sight.

Yuuri is his for as long as Viktor wants him, and Viktor is certain he’ll always want him. Even having him like this, their bodies connected in the most primal and physical of ways, is not enough. Yuuri is simultaneously the most familiar being in the world and an enigma, and Viktor craves him more and more with each gaze, each kiss, each touch.

He flips their positions, pressing Yuuri into the pillows and raining kisses along his collar, down his chest as he thrusts into him. “How about forever?” he breathes against Yuuri’s sternum, and the prince moans as he arches to meet Viktor’s lips.

“Forever’s a long time,” Yuuri gasps. “And we’ve only known each other for six months.”

Viktor’s hips still, a little shard of doubt lodging into his heart. “Some people have promised forever after less,” he points out quietly, not moving despite the disappointed mewl bubbling out of Yuuri’s throat.

“Viktor, please,” whines the prince. “Fuck me first, and talk later.”

But the shard only digs in deeper. “No,” Viktor says, stilling the movements of Yuuri’s hips with a gentle but firm hand. “Yuuri, please. Is this all that we’re going to be? All that you expect from us?”

Yuuri closes his eyes, exhales through his nose. Viktor can’t help but feel his anger mellowing in his chest as he takes in how beautiful the man is, with his legs hooked around Viktor’s waist and his sex-flushed cheeks shining in the dim lighting of the room.

But after a moment, Yuuri shakes his head. “Forever with a prince requires more sacrifices than you know,” he says quietly, tracing a finger along Viktor’s cheekbone. “I don’t want you to throw away your life for me.”

Viktor wants to protest that — wants to scream his adoration and want for the rest of the world to hear, wants to tell Yuuri in no uncertain terms how willing he is to follow him to the ends of the earth — but there’s something in Yuuri’s expression that keeps the words from leaving his mouth. In this moment, as he looks up at Viktor with those wide eyes and pouting lips, Yuuri looks _vulnerable_. As if he knows more than he’s letting on, and is begging Viktor to not bring any of it up right now, not when they are together like this.

So instead of arguing, Viktor leans in and kisses him instead. He begins to move again, and Yuuri moans up into his mouth in response, his hands tangling into Viktor’s hair and around his shoulders. It doesn’t take long for Viktor to come, and with a couple strokes of Yuuri’s cock, his boyfriend follows shortly after.

This time, Viktor curls in tight to Yuuri’s side after cleaning them up, and connects the small freckles dusted along Yuuri’s chest and shoulders like constellations. Slowly, he brings Yuuri’s hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the knuckles.

“You have so much ahead of you,” says Yuuri quietly, his eyes brimming with that intense emotion that Viktor still can’t name. “Be Viktor for a little longer, before you become an Imperial consort. That’s all I ask.”

Viktor nods and kisses him, but the doubt still embeds itself in his heart all the same.

Yuuri leaves Saint Petersburg as quietly as he arrives, on a cold December morning a couple days before the New Year. Already the streets are lined with decorations in preparation for Christmas on the seventh, so on the morning of his departure, Viktor takes Yuuri out to the Christmas markets in Moskovskaya Square, where people are selling sweets and presents to tourists and locals alike.

“They’re offering photos with Ded Moroz,” says Viktor, gesturing to a small building shaped like a gingerbread house. The queue leading into said building is snaking through the entire market. “Russian Santa Claus. Let’s go take some photos!”

“Or you could put on a fake beard and I can pretend I met him,” jokes Yuuri, and Viktor pretends to be offended at that, though the petulance quickly melts away at the sight of the ice sculptures sparkling in the pavilion next door.

They go take pictures of the sculptures, Yuuri’s eyes wide with appreciation as he gapes at the artistry that went into each of them. Afterwards, they walk hand-in-hand through the rest of the market, Yuuri looking longingly at all of the goods on display until his stomach starts to growl audibly.

Viktor grabs him some blini and mulled wine. Yuuri leans in against his side, the smell of cinnamon and cloves clinging to his lips, and Viktor can’t help but sneak a taste. Yuuri’s cheeks, already rosy from the snow, flush even harder at that.

But unfortunately all good things must end, and at eleven, as promised, Yuuri looks down at his phone and says, “Phichit’s here.”

Sure enough, at the edge of the market a black car idles, and when they get closer the tinted windows roll down to show Phichit, wrapped in a parka with a fur hat lodged firmly on his head.

“God, Viktor, you live like this?” Phichit demands, lowering his sunglasses. Yuuri waves from next to Viktor, his bag shouldered firmly under his arm. Phichit nods, and a burly Thai man with a bushy moustache steps out of the car and opens the door, taking Yuuri’s bag from him to place in the boot. Yuuri gets in next to Phichit, who shuffles over, and the man closes the door behind him.

Viktor smiles, feeling a lump in his throat despite himself. “Please take care,” he says.

“I hate this,” Yuuri admits. Viktor’s eyes slide over to where Phichit is very determinedly focused on his phone. “I hate having to say goodbye to you all the time.”

“Maybe if I move to Japan it won’t be that bad?” wonders Viktor. Yuuri blinks at him, as if he’d suddenly granted him a peek into the secrets of the universe, before he reaches through the window.

“Take care of yourself, too,” he says quietly. “I’ll see if Minako will let me video call you.”

“Please,” begs Viktor, taking Yuuri’s hand and slipping off his glove to press a kiss to his knuckles. Yuuri’s breath hitches; he pulls his hand back and presses a kiss to the same spot as well.

“I will,” he promises, and then blows a kiss. As the car pulls away from the roundabout, heading in the direction of Pulkovo, Viktor is left to take the bus back to his newly-cold apartment with only Makkachin for company.

* * *

HELLOHELLO! | NEWS | CELEBRITIES

** Written in the Stars? Royal Boyfriend Shows Off Stylish New Stylus **

_Jun Ayaki_ | 31 December 2017 at 14:08

SAINT PETERSBURG — His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince’s de facto boyfriend, Viktor Nikiforov, was spotted by fellow reporters this morning wielding a pricey new pen during an interview with some Russian Eurovision hopefuls. The posh plume was discovered by Twitter sleuths to be a Nakaya custom-designed [Silver Hyomon fountain pen](http://www.nakaya.org/en/review.aspx?id=289&type=body), with an approximate value of 12,400 USD.

“I highly doubt Nikiforov got this pen by himself,” says Erika Sanderson, one of the Twitter sleuths whose royal watching account, the-royalistas, has over a hundred thousand followers. “Just the price tag on it alone suggests either he has a lot of disposable income on hand to blow on a 12k pen, or it was gifted to him. Given the historic quality that the name Nakaya implies in Japan, I’m inclined to think it was a gift from the Crown Prince.”

The Imperial Household Agency have, of course, declined to comment on the matter, though the evidence surrounding Twitter and Instagram all point to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince having taken an impromptu trip to Saint Petersburg to be with his beloved. The fact that it was done around Christmas is significant, as is the fact that he gave Nikiforov a handmade pen, of all things. Something this expensive isn’t usually given to temporary lovers — could something more long-term lie in store for the prince and the reporter?

“Nakaya pens can take up to six months to make, and I’ll bet you anything that pen probably took all six months,” says royal watcher and pen enthusiast Keiko Nishikawa in a comment on Instagram. “HIH would have been planning to get this pen for Viktor ever since their first meeting, which says a lot about his motivations for the future.”

A pen this exquisite is made all the more singular when one considers how humbly His Imperial Highness usually lives. The foreign press have repeatedly commented on his simple everyday attire, usually seen at sporting events and in the casual pictures taken by his best friend Phichit Chulanont on social media. Given the modest allowance he is granted by the state as a member of the Imperial Family, such a flashy display of favour such as a custom-made Nakaya pen is extremely unusual.

When asked by Russian reporters about his pen, Nikiforov neither confirmed nor denied that it was a present from the Crown Prince. But the clues are all there, and all of Japan (and Russia) is looking on with anticipation at what could possibly be the start of a true fairytale romance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grocery shopping and driving: Yes, it's true that members of the Imperial Family have no idea how cars and grocery stores work (which brings to mind that one episode of Ouran where the host club boys are like OMG A COMMONER SUPERMARKET lol). In fact, Sayako Kuroda (formerly Sayako, Princess Nori) was spotted practising how to drive and shop for herself prior to her marriage to a commoner!
> 
> Personal finances: The Japanese Imperial Family are one of the poorest royal families, though by commoner standards they are still ridiculously wealthy with their cost of living reported to be around 324 million yen for fiscal 2011. Their assets are indeed controlled by the state; all of Hirohito's stuff was liquidated and given to the state by the Americans after Japan lost WW2. (As I might have mentioned somewhere, I'm trying my damndest to skirt away from mentioning Hirohito by name because that's not a can of worms I wanna play with, so bear with me if things like Yasukuni don't come up and people are a lot more horrified at the far right than they are irl. I like to pretend this AU is in an alternate history where Japan treats its war crimes with more remorse and gravity thanks)
> 
> Yusupov Family: A princely family in the old Russian aristocracy! Like I've mentioned before, their palace gardens are where the first figure skating competitions were held. One of the Yusupovs even orchestrated the attempted murder of Rasputin.
> 
> Le Rosey: One of the most expensive boarding schools in Switzerland. 
> 
> The Silent Chrysanthemums: For those who came in without reading love like fools, this book is about Yuuri's anxiety as uncovered by another investigative reporter. The reception of the book is a reference to how investigative reporter Ben Hill's biography of Crown Princess Masako was banned from publication in Japan because of purported "inaccuracies". You can even read the letter the Kunaicho sent him on their website.


	4. here beats my hopeful heart (for you)

Minako springs a lecture on Yuuri the instant he arrives back at Togu Palace, though he only half-listens to it. He bobs his head in all the right places, says the right apologies at the right moments, and then excuses himself to sequester himself in the palace library for the rest of the day.

Time passes excruciatingly slow from there on. Tokyo gets a little dash of snow that quickly melts within hours of falling, so Yuuri takes some time to make sure the bonsai from the garden have all been brought in out of the cold. He also tends to his paperwork, primarily drafting speeches and responses to press questions. A couple days after the Emperor’s New Year address, he will also be expected to share his wishes for the new year with the people in a small press conference. The questions that have been vetted are all sent in, though Yuuri notes that there’s only one question about his love life among the five that have been approved by the Kunaicho.

“They’re hoping you’ll bring up Viktor and marriage,” says Minako when Yuuri points out the question to her. Yuuri remembers the conversation he had with Viktor in the dim morning light of a Saint Petersburg flat, and flushes.

“Marriage isn’t on the table right now,” he says. “I wouldn’t dream of bringing someone I cared about into… all of this.”

Minako raises an eyebrow, but says nothing to that.

So the days pass on in drudgery, with the outside world bleak and grey in the late December weather. Yuuri’s a ghost in his own palace, silently flitting from room to room, desperate not to disturb the daily routines of his own chamberlains. His only moments of happiness are tied to the notification sounds of his phone as he answers Viktor and Phichit’s texts, though even his friend’s excited announcement that he’s going to drop in on Yuuri for New Year doesn’t cheer him up as much as it has in the past. Knowing that he could be heralding the changes in seasons and the passing of time in Viktor’s arms makes his current solitude nigh unbearable, and the only solace he has is that Viktor seems to miss him as much as he misses Viktor.

As promised, however, Phichit arrives on New Year’s Eve with an apology present for Minako in the form of a bottle of Mekhong and a kiss on the cheek. He also takes the Nishigori triplets out to the estate gardens, complaining about the cold weather the entire time. Yuuri hangs back inside, content to spend the day polishing up his comments for the upcoming press conference. The question about his love life still lacks a polished answer, but he’ll hopefully have something before the conference itself.

He’s halfway through editing a paragraph on clean energy usage when he hears a knock at the door of the library. Minako steps in, her expression caught between exasperated and resigned.

“Your Highness, is there a particular reason why you are working on New Year’s Eve?”

Yuuri puts down his pencil. “I feel like it?” he asks.

“Your best friend is here,” Minako points out. “Are you not going to entertain him?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri replies as he turns around to look at her. “I still have some questions that I need to answer.”

A long sigh. “You have been in this melancholic mood since you returned from Saint Petersburg,” Minako remarks drily. “Did something go wrong with Viktor?”

“No.” Yuuri could almost laugh at that. “I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion, Minako-san.”

“I am only concerned for your well-being, Your Highness,” she replies, carefully folding her hands behind her back.

Yuuri sighs, resisting the urge to rub his forehead. “I simply haven’t seen him in a while,” he says. “I’m fine.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “I beg to differ — your moping is having a marked effect on your staff, and there is only so much cheer Phichit can bring.”

Yuuri laughs at that, before rising from the desk. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll retire my moping elsewhere.”

His Grand Master sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Just call him,” she says. “Use video, if you must. What will your parents say if they knew you were acting so miserable over not seeing your boyfriend’s face for more than a couple of days?”

Yuuri doesn’t hesitate a moment longer, taking the opportunity later that night to send a request for a video call to Viktor. He’s barely settled down on the couch in the antechamber of his room when Viktor appears on his laptop screen, seated in the armchair in his childhood bedroom and smiling at the camera.

“ _I thought you weren’t allowed to do something like this for security reasons_ ,” he remarks, and Yuuri grins at that, drinking in the grainy image of Viktor in the same jumper he’d worn to his birthday lunch with his parents, his silver hair casually tousled and his blue eyes bright against the glare from the screen.

“Minako thought my ‘moping’ was becoming insufferable,” he replies, and Viktor’s cheeks visibly flush in the light as he smiles.

“ _Should I assume we’ve got the Kunaicho listening in on this_?” he asks.

Yuuri laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He leans back against the couch, bringing the laptop onto his lap with a sigh. “You’re going to have to come here for the good stuff.”

Viktor snorts at that. “ _The_ good stuff _— oh my_ god _, Yuuri_.” He claps a hand to his face. “ _You make it sound like I’m some kind of junkie_.”

“It doesn’t feel like that for you?” asks Yuuri innocently.

“ _Have you ever_ been _on drugs?_ ” retorts Viktor. Yuuri shakes his head, feeling chastised, though moments later his boyfriend clearly takes pity on him. “ _In your defense, I do find myself craving you every moment, so…_ ”

Yuuri hides his cheeks behind his hands, despite the dimness of the lighting and the fact that he had brought them to this very conversation topic. In a valiant effort to change it, he asks, “Any plans for the new year?”

“ _As in what? Resolutions? Or actual plans for celebrating it_?” Yuuri shrugs, so Viktor hums and adds, “ _I mean, my parents are going to one of their friend’s parties after midnight. Heard there’ll be a lot of vodka, so I invited myself as well_.”

Yuuri laughs. “My father is preparing an address for tomorrow,” he says.

“ _What about you_?” asks Viktor, quirking an eyebrow. Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.

“I have some press conferences,” he says, biting his lip as he watches Viktor shift in his seat. “Minako only approved one question about us.”

Viktor snorts. “ _What question_?” he asks.

Yuuri could rattle it off in his sleep now, considering the hours he’s spent staring at it. “Does Your Highness have any thoughts as to plans for the future,” he says, watching Viktor’s eyebrows inching towards his hairline with each word. “I don’t have much of an answer for it right now,” he confesses.

“ _What portions of an answer_ do _you have_?” wonders Viktor.

“I just…” Yuuri sighs, suddenly focused on his laptop keys. “Minako thinks they want to hear talk about marriage or something. But you know my answer to that: it’s too much of a sacrifice for you.”

Viktor’s eyes flash at that. “ _I think I can determine for myself what’s_ ‘too much’ _of a sacrifice_ ,” he intones drily. Yuuri balks at that a little, though he quickly recovers, shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean —” he begins, but then breaks off with a sigh, pinching his brow. “No, that’s a lie. I do mean it. We’ve only seen each other in person three times. That’s not a foundation for a marriage.”

“ _I didn’t mean I was expecting a proposal_ tonight _._ ” Viktor’s tone is flat, petulant. “ _I’m just surprised you don’t even want to contemplate it as a long-term goal, though_.”

“Not at this point,” lies Yuuri, because what else could it be? He has spent countless hours imagining something long-term with Viktor, fantasising about waking up to his face every morning and whispering sweet dreams to him every night. He passes couples hand-in-hand during motorcades and wishes himself in their shoes.

He remembers, again, a half-lit living room and the feeling of Viktor’s arms around him, as they promised each other a future they could never actually have. _We’ll eat katsudon on our wedding da_ y, Yuuri had suggested, because it had been easy back then to pretend he was ordinary, to pretend that marriage for him was like marriage for anyone else in the world.

But they couldn’t pretend that anymore. So he shakes his head, and says:

“There’s too many other considerations. Please just drop it for now.”

But Viktor picks up on his words like a bloodhound on the scent of prey. “ _Considerations_?” he echoes. “ _What considerations_?”

“You’ve never lived in Japan long-term,” Yuuri points out. “You don’t even speak Japanese, let alone know how to handle the Japanese press and the Kunaicho.”

“ _I’ve worked with the Japanese press_ ,” Viktor growls. “ _I’ve covered news stories in Japan before. And you know how I feel about the Kunaicho_.”

Yuuri almost snorts at that. Given that Kunaicho’s first impression of Viktor was a brawl on a river cruise, the animosity between the two is definitely mutual. “Unfortunately they’re an institution that’s been attached to the Imperial Family since the eighth century, so they’re here to stay,” he says, shaking his head. “Seriously, Viktor, just drop it. You’re not ready.”

“ _What, and_ you _are_?” demands Viktor, hurt etched in the lines of his face. _He’s lashing out_ , Yuuri knows, and his heart squeezes at it.

“Do you want to know the hoops my mother jumped through once news got out about my father’s interest in her?” he asks quietly. Viktor says nothing, so Yuuri plunges on, his voice as fervent as it had been during that one speech when he had declared on national TV that Viktor had helped him realise what love is.

“She had to be Japanese, capable of speaking more than two languages, and from a good family that was not involved in any political scandals or corruption schemes. Someone from the Kunaicho found out her great-grandfather was an anti-monarchist, and she very nearly wasn’t allowed to marry my father because of it.”

Viktor blinks, but still says nothing. Yuuri sighs, shaking his head.

“Besides that, she had to be a virgin with no body modifications, and she had to be shorter than my father.” He laughs harshly, holding up four fingers. “I can already count _four_ different things on this list that you don’t fulfill, Viktor. Four things that aren’t a deal-breaker for me, but are for the institution I was born into. You would be marrying into the oldest monarchy on Earth. You would become consort to a future Emperor. That’s not an easy burden.”

Viktor visibly swallows. “ _And it was an easy burden for other Imperial consorts_?” he asks drily.

Yuuri shakes his head. “It’s not an easy burden for _anyone_ , but at least the majority of them knew what they were getting into, and were groomed for their position.” He pauses, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “You’re not, no matter how much education you have, no matter how well-travelled you are. This is a world that will eat you alive, and I don’t want you to jump into it blinded by your feelings for me.”

Viktor swallows, too, and absently rubs at his eyes. “ _You know I love you_ ,” he breathes, his voice wavering. “ _You know I’d stand by you in whatever capacity you’ll have me_.”

“I know.” Yuuri sighs, pushing back his fringe for a moment as he regards the screen. “And I appreciate that, I really do, but I’d rather we shelve the marriage conversation for later.”

“ _And when do you mean by ‘later’_?” asks Viktor.

“When you’ve won a Pulitzer for your work,” jokes Yuuri, though he sighs and shakes his head. “I just… I mean, please pursue your career first, Viktor. Don’t throw that away just to marry me; it’s not worth it.”

Viktor opens his mouth, as if he’d like to differ, but the door to Yuuri’s room suddenly slides open with a loud ‘thunk’ and Phichit charges in, his eyes wide and his knuckles white on his phone. “Yuuri, my life is over!” he whines, and Yuuri laughs indulgently before mouthing an apology at Viktor.

“What happened now?” he asks, as Phichit crosses over and flops down into his lap, waving the phone in his face. “I can’t see the screen if you shake it at me,” he points out.

Phichit’s hands steady so that Yuuri can see the cover art of an extended play album. “TEN’s dropped their pre-hiatus EP,” he says, before scrubbing his hands down his face. “I’m going to die; there won’t be any more content for two years, Yuuri. _Two years_!”

Yuuri frowns. “Why two years?” he asks.

“Mandatory military service,” says Phichit, taking back his phone and clutching it to his chest. “The older guys have been putting it off for forever, so it’s just bowing to the inevitable. But who the hell am I going to listen to while they’re gone?”

“… Other k-pop groups?” suggests Yuuri, shrugging.

“You’re so callous to my suffering,” sniffs Phichit. “None of them have Seung-gil as their manager.”

Yuuri snorts at that. “I still can’t believe you follow a k-pop boyband because you think their _manager_ is cute.”

Phichit scrambles up to glare at him directly in the eyes. “I liked them _before_ I found out their manager was cute,” he points out, before hearing Viktor clear his throat from the screen and spinning around to wave at him. “Oh hey, Viktor! It’s going to be midnight soon over here. Mind if I kiss His Imperial Highness for you?”

Viktor laughs. “ _Go right ahead_ ,” he says in mock-resignation, and Yuuri pretends to be offended for all of a moment before Viktor asks Phichit about his plans for the new year. Phichit starts chattering about the events he has to attend for his family’s company, and Yuuri sits back and lets his friend drape himself all around him, his chin now resting on Yuuri’s shoulder as he beams at the camera.

“I heard SVQ’s covering the talks between Baranovskaya and Matsudaira,” Phichit says suddenly, jolting Yuuri from his reverie.

“Wait, what?” he asks, but Viktor’s nodding already.

“ _Yeah, I’m excited to cover it! Unfortunately I don’t have a photographer for this; Chris got called to New York for Men’s Fashion Week. But I’ll be arriving on the ninth_ —”

“That’s so soon,” Yuuri remarks.

“The talks go from the eleventh to the twelfth,” Phichit points out. “Didn’t Minako tell you about this?”

“No,” Yuuri says, his stomach flipping unpleasantly. “I mean, maybe she told me about the talks themselves, but she didn’t say anything about Viktor being at them.”

“Ah.” Phichit nods. “I’m pretty sure she knew that though; the Internet’s been talking about it for a while since some intern at SVQ leaked the info.”

Yuuri can feel his blood turn to ice at this. This isn’t the first time Minako has withheld information from him, but somehow this one feels like a special betrayal on her part. He tries to take a couple calming breaths, feeling Phichit’s hand on his shoulder ground him.

“I think we’re going to go have a talk with Yuuri’s minders,” Phichit remarks cheerily at Viktor, though Yuuri feels as though he’s already a hundred miles away from himself. Things aren’t quite adding up; if Minako had wanted to hide Viktor’s impending visit to Tokyo, wouldn’t she have discouraged Yuuri from calling him?

“ _I should probably sign off, then_?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri suddenly jolts back to the present with a miserable wrench of his gut.

“I guess,” he sighs. “I don’t want you to go, though.”

Viktor smiles bracingly. “ _I’ll be coming over in nine days,_ ” he points out. “I _mean, I’ll be working, so I don’t think I’ll have much free time, but_ —”

“Please take care,” Yuuri says, reaching for the screen as if he’d like nothing more than to reach through it and touch Viktor’s face. “Remember what we discussed.”

His boyfriend flushes at that. “ _I’ll think about it_ ,” he says. “Y _ou know I want to stand by you no matter what_.”

“And I want you to succeed in your career before you give it up,” Yuuri retorts, shaking his head. “I don’t want to be the only thing people remember you for.”

That’s also a bit of a lie. The thought of being remembered by history as the one who stole Viktor Nikiforov from the world thrills him like nothing else. But it’s a selfish want, a possessive notion that shouldn’t be encouraged. So he swallows back those thoughts and smiles, especially as Viktor’s expression grows soft at it.

“ _I love you_ ,” he whispers.

Yuuri feels his face heating up at that. “Happy New Year,” he says in response, blowing him a kiss.

The call ends then, and Yuuri is left with Phichit, who ducks behind his phone as Yuuri turns to him.

“I heard nothing,” declares Phichit, and Yuuri rolls his eyes as he rises to his feet.

“Come on,” he says, extending his hand. “We have a new year to greet.”

* * *

**New Year, New Promises  
** _Viktor Nikiforov, Crown Prince Yuuri, and the current state of Russo-Japanese relations_

**By Tina Hashimoto**  
5 January 2018

On 11 January, Russian President Lilia Baranovskaya will make a two-day official visit to Japan to meet with Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Matsudaira. This will be Baranaovskaya’s first official overseas trip of the new year, and the seventh in a series of summit meetings with the Japanese Prime Minister in order to address the perennial issue clouding Russo-Japanese relations since 1951 — the dispute over the Kuril Islands.

These four islands north of Hokkaido, which have been occupied by Russia but claimed by Japan, have been subject to numerous futile attempts at negotiating a peace treaty between the two nations. Russia in the past has been inflexible on its perception of the islands’ sovereignty, citing that ceding the islands to Japan would lead to an increase in the United States’ military presence along Russia’s east border. Baranovskaya, however, has not expressed similar sentiments since taking office in 2016; on the contrary, she has made overt gestures towards cooperating with the European Union and the United States, aggressively pursuing free-trade agreements and encouraging foreign investment in the former Soviet state.

Despite Baranovskaya’s more global outlook and willingness to cooperate, she has remained tight-lipped about her continued negotiations with Matsudaira, who is known to favour isolationism and nationalism, and who has faced press criticism for his revisionist approach to teaching Japanese history in schools. Despite that, the currently stable political environment in Japan suggests that Matsudaira could remain in power until 2021. Baranovskaya herself is facing an election this upcoming March, and preliminary polls are suggesting that she stands a good chance of being reelected. So for the foreseeable future, it is in these two leaders that hopes of a Russo-Japanese rapprochement and peace treaty must lie.

However, one must not discount the political wrench that a burgeoning royal romance could present for these two nations. The romantic relationship between Russian investigative journalist Viktor Nikiforov and Japanese Crown Prince Yuuri has intensified public scrutiny on the political relationship between Moscow and Tokyo. While the Imperial Family is officially discouraged from intervening in politics, they are still inextricably connected to the country, and any actions they take still reflect on the state. The fact that the Emperor has not yet dissuaded his son from pursuing a Russian journalist certainly points to a greater acceptance of Russia within the Imperial Family, something that cannot be as easily said for the Imperial Household Agency or in Matsudaira’s government.

Like President Baranovskaya, both Crown Prince Yuuri and his father Emperor Toshiya have expressed interest in fostering better relations between their country and its neighbours. Both men have made several trips abroad; Crown Prince Yuuri even attained a bachelor’s degree in history from Harvard University in Boston. His relationship with Nikiforov, combined with his frequent appearances in his friends’ social media posts, has led to his reputation as a new ‘Prince of the People’ — a well-liked young member of the Imperial Family who could potentially bring the entire family and the institutions that surround it into the new millennium.

Of course, it is impossible to predict if the prince and the reporter will last as a couple. Nevertheless, such a high-profile international coupling will surely raise questions about the shared future for their countries. The current political frostiness between Baranovskaya and Matsudaira is not sustainable if they wish to work towards greater cooperation between their countries, especially if the viability of a future Imperial marriage — and Japan’s first foreign-born Imperial consort — depends on it. If Japan and Russia are technically still at war, could the bond shared between these two young lovers bring their countries some semblance of peace?

For now, only time will tell.

* * *

On the ninth of January, Viktor Nikiforov arrives at Haneda Airport and is almost immediately flocked by reporters. This time, however, he has neither Yuuri nor Yakov to ward them off, and presses on through the bodies and thrusted microphones until he reaches the car that will take him to his hotel.

The drive to Chiyoda is long, with the freeway packed with early evening traffic. Nighttime has already fallen, creeping dark and velvety between the skyscrapers sprung along the side of the freeway like large, luminescent plants. Trains streak expertly between them; Viktor looks out at one and vaguely wonders if Yuuri has ever taken one of those.

Probably not. A member of the Imperial Family on a train must surely be a security nightmare.

They pass Tokyo Tower on the way, and this time Viktor is able to properly appreciate it as he zooms by. He snaps a picture, sending it along to Yuuri with a smiley face and a message about him landing in Tokyo. Moments later, Yuuri responds:

_Where are you staying?_

_Stammi Vicino Quarterly_ has furnished for him a four-star hotel room overlooking Hibiya Park and the outer gardens of the Imperial Palace. Viktor sends the pin to Yuuri just as the cab drops him off at the curb just in front of his hotel. Thankfully there’s no press waiting for him here, though when he goes up to the front desk to check in, the receptionist does a double take at him.

Viktor smiles placidly at her as he presents his passport; she flushes a little, brows furrowing as she types at her computer, and then presents his keycard with a little bow.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr Nikiforov,” she says, and Viktor quickly bobs at her before rushing for the elevators to go up to his room.

Yuuri has texted him again when he gets to his room. _It’s not far from the Imperial Palace_ , he remarks with a winky emoji. Viktor chuckles a little at that as he sprawls out on his bed, phone held up against the yellowish light in the room.

 _Is there anything else you’d recommend doing over here_? he asks.

 _Ginza is good for shopping_ , is Yuuri’s immediate reply. _You’re also next door to the Tokyo Takarazuka Theater, if you want to catch a show_.

Viktor laughs. _You just googled that, didn’t you_?

Yuuri sends him a sobbing emoji. _I’m sorry I don’t go out much when I’m at home_ , he replies. Viktor imagines him typing this out with a pout, and resists the urge to kiss his phone.

 _It’s strange to be here in Tokyo without you_ , he confesses, though it takes him a moment before he sends that. Yuuri’s bubble shows he’s typing, though it starts and stops enough times to make Viktor’s heart stutter a little in his chest.

 _I wish I could see you, too_ , Yuuri replies after a moment, _but I’m currently at a political dinner with the Governor of Tokyo and some Diet members. I’ll let you know when my schedule clears, though_?

 _Yes please_ , Viktor types almost immediately. _I want to see you again_.

 _Take care of yourself_ , Yuuri offers. Viktor sends a string of hearts in return, before pocketing his mobile and leaving the room in search of a place to eat.

He has one full day before the talks begin, which he spends exploring the area. Despite the fact that Yuuri isn’t in Chiyoda — he’s a couple wards away in Akasaka, after all — exploring the area around the Imperial Palace without him feels wrong somehow, like he’s sneaking into one of Yuuri’s other houses without permission.

Viktor spends the next morning watching the tourists milling around the outer garden of the Imperial Palace, separated from the actual palace itself by walls of bricks and foliage, and sends a picture to Yuuri, who doesn’t respond to it until after lunch with a comment about how he’s never been there himself. It’s so strange to see this disconnect, to see how Yuuri has been deliberately isolated from many parts of his own country in the pursuit of maintaining Imperial mystique.

In order to delay the arrival of the tabloid press, Viktor tries to keep a low profile, wearing sunglasses and hoods whenever he’s out and about. He gets a couple suspicious glances, of course, but once people like store clerks and café servers recognise him, they start acting oddly deferential. The manager at a ramen bar that he goes to on his first night even went as far as to rebuke a gaggle of schoolgirls for staring and giggling in his direction, and Viktor had felt guilty for everyone else as he hunched over his ramen and tried to ignore the stares from other diners.

On the night of the tenth, President Lilia Baranovskaya invites him to dinner. Viktor meets up with her on the third floor of an unassuming grey building in Minato, in a little kaiseki restaurant that has been rented out for the evening for privacy. The chef prepares the food in front of them, his English rapid-fire but soft under the stony glares of the bodyguards posted at the door.

Though the food is delicious, Viktor finds himself picking at it as the servers flit soft-voiced between him and the austere-looking woman across the table from him. Lilia is as stern-eyed as he remembers, though there are new wrinkles around her mouth and in the corners of her eyes. Viktor suspects they’re from the divorce with Yakov, and wisely decides to remark that she looks as young as ever.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is clipped, but not cold; she raises a small cup of sake. “Let’s drink to a painless negotiation.”

Viktor laughs at that. “Don’t tell Matsudaira you know me, then,” he replies, as he meets her toast and takes a sip of the sake. It burns sweetly down his throat; the cup clinks merrily against the black lacquered table as he sets it down.

Lilia fixes him with a steely glare. “Don’t tell me you’ve already made enemies here,” she deadpans.

“ _I_ didn’t do anything,” replies Viktor, shrugging. “Matsudaira and his lot just hate me because I’m foreign and dating their Crown Prince.”

Lilia hums at that, her frown deepening as she chews thoughtfully at her sashimi. After washing it down with sake, she speaks up again:

“I hope you won’t give them more reason to hate you, then.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Ye of little faith,” he remarks drily.

Lilia chuckles. “Vitya, I have known you since Yakov first took you under his wing at university.” She rests her chin on her folded hands, a small smile twitching at her thin, pencilled lips. “Your dogged meddling and your liking for ‘surprises’ may not be taken as warmly in a country like Japan.”

“Yuuri likes it,” Viktor replies half-defensively, popping another sliver of sashimi into his mouth so as to delay more questioning. Lilia’s expression remains unimpressed.

“I would expect you of all people to know that any institution as powerful as the Kunaicho would not have nearly as much influence over a society if they do not have some fingers in less savoury pies,” she remarks drily as their dishes are swapped out for new ones. “Grand Steward Hiramatsu is not a man you should treat lightly. Nor is Prime Minister Matsudaira, for that matter. He is more than your average conservative politician.”

“Yes, and the Grand Steward’s more than your average old man yelling at the kids on his lawn,” retorts Viktor as he pokes at the artfully-arranged slice of grilled mackerel now sitting in front of him. Lilia’s brows only furrow deeper, so he sighs and sets down his chopsticks. “I get it, though. I’m trying not to fuck this up.”

Lilia nods, sipping her sake again. “You’ve read the other articles about you and the Crown Prince, right?”

“Yeah,” says Viktor. “Stuff about how we’re supposed to bring peace between Russia and Japan, or bring the Imperial Family into the twenty-first century, or both.”

“It’s all fluff,” sniffs Lilia, waving a hand. “The Kuril Island disputes will not be resolved because of you and the Crown Prince, I know. As long as Matsudaira keeps trying to wall Japan off from the rest of the world while simultaneously playing lapdog to the United States —”

She cuts off suddenly when the chef places a new set of dishes in front of them, smiling as his cheery voice breaks the mounting tension in the room. Viktor’s already lost track of where they are in the meal; he blindly follows the instructions they’re given on how to consume the dishes in front of them, which seems to be some sort of soup that had to be eaten before the dish in the clay hot pot next to it.

It takes Lilia a couple more minutes to return to the conversation, and by then her anger looks to have cooled somewhat. “Just let me do my job,” she says, her expression lined with worry and care. “I will negotiate with Matsudaira, and you try not to make my job more difficult than it already is. All right?”

“I’m trying already,” replies Viktor.

“Try harder,” retorts Lilia. “Just remember: a couple years back, two Japanese papers printed criticism of the Empress's fondness for cooking katsudon, and found their offices sprayed with bullets the next morning. Any perceived threat to the sanctity of the Chrysanthemum Throne _will_ be eliminated, if not through official channels, then through… shadier ones.”

“You think I’m going to be in danger?” asks Viktor.

“I don’t know,” replies Lilia. “But I want you to be careful with the Crown Prince and his crowd all the same. You’re venturing into dangerous waters, Vitya. I only want you to be safe.”

Her words linger with him long after the dinner is over, as he hails a cab back to his hotel. The night is mild, the darkness mitigated by bright city lights dancing and blurring as the car makes its way through traffic-laden streets. Though the hour is relatively late, Tokyo is only starting to wake; its nocturnal haunts are filled with people just getting off of work.

Yuuri calls him just as the cabbie pulls up to the hotel. Viktor quickly pays the fare before stepping out and taking the call. As he heads up to the front door of the hotel, he notices the small crowd of people staring at him and quickly ducks his head.

“ _Good news and bad news_ ,” says Yuuri as Viktor crosses the lobby.

“Bad news first,” Viktor replies.

“ _My schedule isn’t free until after the talks conclud_ e.”

“I’d be at work anyway, so I would’ve been indisposed.” Viktor jabs at the button for his floor quickly, sighing as a couple other people join him. “What’s the good news?”

“ _You can stay at Togu Palace with me, if you have some extra days after the talks_ ,” replies Yuuri. “ _Not too long, of course, but_ —”

“I’d love that,” Viktor interrupts, sending wary glances at the other people in the elevator. “I have two days after the talks conclude before I have to go back, so we can make the most of that.”

“ _Good_.” Yuuri sighs in obvious relief. “ _Okay, that’s… all I had to say_.” A pause. “ _How have you been_?”

The elevator stops at VIktor’s floor just then, and he practically tears into it, rushing down to his door and sequestering himself in his room before he answers. “I had dinner with President Baranovskaya,” he replies. “Before that, I seriously considered going to the Imperial Palace as a tourist.”

“ _But you didn’t_?” asks Yuuri.

“Didn’t want to draw too much attention,” replies Viktor. Yuuri makes a happy-sounding noise at that, which sends warmth coursing through Viktor’s veins. He tries to imagine where the prince is right now — sneaking a call in between meetings? Ducking out of an important dinner to ask Viktor about his day? Or maybe he’s already done for the day, tucked in his four-poster at Togu Palace and missing the sound of Viktor’s voice. The possibilities feel endless, especially when he’s so close and yet so far.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly. “How have you been?”

“ _Busy_ ,” replies Yuuri. “ _Lots of different events and meetings. I’m also included in the Imperial well-wishers for Team Japan when they go to Pyeongchang this year, so my parents and I have been drafting our pep talks_.”

Viktor laughs at that. In this moment, it’s a little hard to remember that Yuuri’s family is surrounded by an entire shadowy agency suspected of having even shadier ties. Their conversation turns to topics like figure skating and other Olympic sports, and Viktor lets the remaining tension from his dinner with Lilia drain from his body as he slowly lowers his guard.

That quickly turns out, within the span of eight hours, to be a terrible idea.

* * *

the fundamentals of giving a damn ( **bravelied** ) wrote in **ohnotheydidnt** :

**_nikiforov screws the pooch by accidentally referring to the crown prince’s sex life_ **

viktor nikiforov’s heading for the doghouse with this remark to a reporter outside his hotel this morning! 2 3

japanese twitter is BLOWING UP about the comments! princekatsukis translated a couple in a thread here.

this is so intense. prayer circle for vitya everyone~

tagged with: royalty / royal family, true love / love is dead, books / authors, asian celebrities, russian celebrities 

—————

**5679 comments**

**sobbingoverspilledtequila**  
God, I feel so sorry for him. It was probably just a slip of the tongue, or an attempt to get them off his back. They’re going to eat him alive.

 **aeryi**  
The reporters were in the wrong here, harassing him like that when he’s trying to get to work! At least violence didn’t break out, because I was worried for a second that it would!

** Expand 152 more comments **

**stabuckwhee**  
Paparazzi are the same wherever you go it seems!

 **penguinsmut**  
i didn’t catch the question that led to his comment, can someone tell me what it was? :O

 **meriadoc**  
          Reporter: “Can you comment on the nature of your relationship to Prince Katsuki?”  
          Viktor: “I dunno, I’ll ask him about it next time we’re in bed.”

 **penguinsmut**  
                    …that’s it? wtf is the scandal then?

 **meriadoc**  
                          People don’t like that he’s basically compromised the Crown Prince’s chastity by implying they’ve been in bed together before.

**                               Expand 341 more comments **

**argi_argentum**  
I’m not the only one slightly bothered that the reporter called the Crown Prince “Prince Katsuki” right? It seems almost like it’s infantilizing him.

 **lleroy**  
          No, it’s not just you, some Japanese commenters have pointed out that it’s super rude of the reporter to call him by his childhood title

**           Expand 98 more comments **

**prince_eggyolk**  
Gotta love how the Imperial Family is off-limits for the press but any prospective suitors are fair game :/

* * *

The instant Viktor’s phone begins to chime with notifications, he turns it off. Despite that, it doesn’t stop the curious looks from his colleagues as he collects his press badge from the reception of the building where Lilia and the Japanese Prime Minister are supposed to meet.

“Care to comment on your statement to the Japanese press earlier this morning?” asks Josef Karpisek as he takes a seat next to Viktor in the hallway.

“No,” replies Viktor, and strides away. He can only get so far, though, before he catches another colleague’s appraising look. It almost feels like he’s in secondary school again on the morning after a big embarassment, and the news has spread like wildfire throughout the entire school.

Yuuri, tellingly, doesn’t send him any texts. That’s the worst part of it; Viktor could have gotten through the entire international press corps eying him like sharks with a piece of meat, had Yuuri been there with him. But he remains reticent, Viktor’s hastily-typed apology remaining unread even as the hours tick by.

It had been a slip of the tongue. A sudden crack in what should’ve been a rock-hard resolve to ignore all press questions about his and Yuuri’s relationship. He’d gone months already in Russia ignoring the reporters camped out across the street from him; he’d even survived the mob at the arrivals area in Haneda just a couple days ago. But there had been something more grating about this morning’s mob, something shrill and hurtful in the way they flung their questions at him.

_Could you comment on the nature of your relationship with Prince Katsuki?_

As the cab he hails at the end of the day takes him back to the hotel, Viktor pulls up the translation of Yuuri’s most recent press conference on the Kunaicho’s website. Yuuri had finally found his answer to the question he’d ran past Viktor during their video call, and it’s every bit as vague and polite as Viktor had expected. _A lot can happen in the future, but I am hopeful that come what may, I will be able to face all of my challenges together with the people I care for most in the world by my side_. It says nothing about Viktor himself, let alone a long-term relationship or marriage — in fact, Yuuri had then taken the rest of the question to thank his parents for their guidance instead, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from Viktor.

No wonder the press had decided to go pick on Viktor instead.

“How do you do it?” he mutters as the cab pulls up in front of the hotel. The crowd of reporters outside it has grown exponentially. Viktor hadn’t seen half this many reporters at the Baranovskaya-Matsudaira talks today, and that had actually been something _important_ in the relations between Russia and Japan.

“Wow, are they for you?” the cabbie asks as Viktor hands over the fare.

“Yeah,” Viktor mutters.

“Good luck,” says the cabbie, sending him a pitying smile, and Viktor sighs as he clambers out of the car and grits his teeth closed all the way into the hotel.

The receptionists send him pitying looks as he enters the foyer. “Mr Nikiforov, we are deeply sorry for the inconvenience,” one of them offers as he passes the front desk.

“Thanks,” Viktor mutters, barely sparing them a glance as he heads for the elevators. He’s pretty sure that they had more to say, but he doesn’t hear any of it as the elevator doors rattle closed and he starts to ascend to a cheery tune and a soft glowing advertisement for some Takarazuka musical about Empress Elisabeth of Austria.

He decides to sequester himself in his room for the night, not wanting to face the crowds outside again no matter how much his stomach rumbles. So he peruses the hotel’s room service options instead, placing an order for something that he forgets the name of as soon as he hangs up the phone. Collapsing back onto his bed, Viktor stares up at the popcorn ceiling of the room, listens to the sound of sirens screeching from afar and watches the dim blinking of city lights through the sheer fabric of the curtains.

His stomach churns, as if he’s waiting for something unpleasant but he doesn’t quite know what it is. Yuuri still hasn’t read his apology, and adding on any other messages would make him look stupidly needy right now. So he decides to occupy the time with a shower instead, letting the warm water from the shower pound away at the dull ache in his head and the tension in his back.

He’s just pulled on a robe when he hears a knock at his door. When he goes to answer it, however, he sees Minako there, holding an eat-up tray with a covered dish on it.

“We need to talk,” she says briskly, striding into the room.

Viktor gapes at her. Minako pays him no mind as she sets up the meal, expertly arranging the chopsticks and cutlery around the dish before pulling out the desk chair with practiced ease.

“Well? Are you going to stare across the room all night or are you going to close that door and eat your food?” demands Yuuri’s Grand Master, folding her arms.

Viktor hastily obeys, closing the door and heading for the desk. Minako pushes in the chair for him and then uncovers the dish with a flick of her wrist, and Viktor stares down at the curry rice dish he’d ordered with a sigh.

“Do hotels usually let members of the Kunaicho pose as waitstaff?” he asks.

Minako snorts. “The chamberlain who would’ve brought you your food had twenty other orders,” she says. “Yours would’ve been cold by the time you got it. Eat.”

Viktor complies. The curry is still scalding hot. “You really shouldn’t have,” he mutters.

Minako says nothing, only leans against the desk and waits, her expression unreadable. Viktor is painfully aware of the messiness of the room, of his phone lying on the nightstand with unread messages to Yuuri on it. He takes another bite of the curry, before setting down his spoon.

“You wanted to talk,” he says.

Minako fixes him with her hawk-like glare. “The comment you made this morning,” she begins.

“Was out of line and I apologise,” replies Viktor. “I know I shouldn’t have said it.”

Minako nods. “I need a written apology for the Crown Prince,” she says.

Viktor’s eyes narrow. “I texted him.”

“He’s not answering his texts,” replies Minako, a hint of smugness in her voice.

“Because of my comment?” asks Viktor.

“He is a very busy man,” she hedges.

“But it’s the comment, isn’t it,” presses Viktor.

Minako shakes her head. “He was a little annoyed, but not to the point of ignoring you,” she concedes. “The Kunaicho, on the other hand, believe that your comments are gravely scandalous. Had it not been for an intervention from Their Imperial Majesties themselves, Grand Steward Hiramatsu might be in my place right now telling you how you are now forbidden from any further contact with the Crown Prince.”

Viktor frowns. “Am I?” he asks.

“No,” says Minako. “But His Imperial Highness was instructed to refrain from contacting you until your apology has been made.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Last I checked, a 24-year-old man can make his own decisions on who to talk to,” he points out drily.

“And last _I_ checked, most 24-year-old men are not supposed to be symbols of the state,” retorts Minako. “Do you know what happened to the British Royal Family once they started letting the world see how _relatable_ they are? Suddenly it’s open season on princes and princesses, the tabloid press splashing all of their sordid affairs and mental illnesses across the front pages of their gossip rags for the world to consume. Now the Windsors are no better than a low-rated television family drama, all of their prestige swept away with increasing numbers of the people asking if they really _do_ need a monarchy, after all.” She pauses. “As you can see, the Kunaicho is dedicated to ensuring that the Imperial Family will never suffer such a disgrace. Your comment this morning, however vague, however open-ended, allowed the press to question the Crown Prince’s chastity.”

Viktor snorts. “You and I both know he wasn’t a virgin even _before_ he met me,” he points out.

Minako’s lips press into a line. “Yes,” she concedes. “But _Japan_ doesn’t. Reporters have tracked down all of His Imperial Highness’s former dalliances at Harvard, but thanks to us, none of them have spilled anything to the press. They have rumours and hearsay, nothing more — and _that_ is easily deniable.”

Viktor looks down at his curry, and then back up at Minako. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll write an apology. But I need you to use your press-be-gone powers to get the tabloids off my back.”

Minako raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said you knew how to handle the Japanese press,” she remarks.

Viktor glares. “That was before I knew they would track down my hotel and harass me with comments about how I’m a careless foreigner who’s going to break their prince’s heart every time I set foot outside my door,” he snaps. “I want you to guarantee my privacy from the Japanese press while I’m with Yuuri, please. Just as a token of courtesy, if nothing else.”

Minako nods. “This would be a lot easier if you hadn’t actively encouraged him to kiss you in public, but I suppose we can still run damage control,” she says, before rummaging in the desk drawers and surfacing with a stationery set. Setting down the note paper and pen in front of him, Minako tilts her head expectantly.

Viktor sighs, takes the pen and paper, and starts to write.

* * *

**PRESS RELEASE: Regarding the Recent Internet Videos of Mr Viktor Nikiforov**

12 January 2018  
Board of the Crown Prince’s Household  
Imperial Household Agency

The Board of the Crown Prince’s Household conveyed the following message to various internet video hosting sites (YouTube, Dailymotion, NicoNico, and Instagram, amid others) with regard to the videos taken of Mr Viktor Nikiforov as he exited the REMM Hibiya hotel in Chiyoda on the morning of 11 January 2018 at approximately 9:34AM:

The videos, which depict Mr Nikiforov responding to reporters asking him about his relationship with the Crown Prince, were taken and uploaded without Mr Nikiforov’s consent, and with the sole purpose of generating controversy and sensational press. We have requested that the aforementioned websites remove the videos immediately.

Mr Nikiforov has since apologised to the Crown Prince for his insensitive remark, and expresses his deepest regret to the Imperial Family for having made it in the first place. As the comment came as a result of extended harassment from reporters vis à vis the Crown Prince, we would like to instruct the press to refrain from posting any future stories regarding the relationship between the Crown Prince and Mr Nikiforov.

* * *

Viktor’s apology is hand-written, scribbled onto hotel stationery, and yet Yuuri reads it over and over again at breakfast and clutches it to his chest like a swooning Regency heroine.

“You didn’t have to go do that,” he tells Minako. “He apologised.”

“Over _text_ ,” Minako points out baldly. “I needed a record for the Public Relations office.”

“I thought you log all of my texts anyway,” Yuuri points out.

“This one’s nicer.” Minako gestures to the letter in Yuuri’s hands. “He also sent an apology to the agency in general.”

“Is this your idea of hazing?” asks Yuuri, arching an eyebrow. “I really hope you don’t make it a habit of showing up in person to harangue Viktor every time he makes a small mistake.”

“Royals aren’t allowed to make mistakes,” Minako points out. She then claps a hand to her mouth, and inclines her head. “That is, if you’re serious about him.”

Yuuri swallows. “We’ll see,” he replies, and she nods, bowing in apology. Yuuri tucks the letter away in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, and returns to his speeches.

His schedule is busy until the evening, with a series of meetings and gallery exhibitions and dinners with politicians to attend. He smiles and nods through all of it, only saying the things that he’s been scripted to say, and poses for a couple perfunctory pictures with people of note throughout the events. At his next respite, he checks the news for anything about Viktor. Unsurprisingly, besides a brief spot on ANN about the Kunaicho requesting a media blackout on Viktor, there isn’t very much.

“ _The talks between Prime Minister Matsudaira and Russian President Lilia Baranovskaya are wrapping up today_ ,” a newscaster announces as one of the aides hands him a bottle of water. Yuuri absently takes a sip, watching the flash of cameras against President Baranovskaya and Prime Minister Matsudaira as they shake hands for the press. “ _Over the course of these two days, Matsudaira and Baranovskaya discussed the issue of the Northern Territories, as well as joint economic ventures in other countries_.”

Viktor must be in the room somewhere, lost amid that vast crowd of people. Yuuri hates that there’s still several more hours left until he can see him, and checks his phone with a sigh.

 _I’m sorry if Minako scared you last night_ , he says. _I told her not to make a habit of it_.

As soon as his last engagement is done for the evening, Yuuri rushes back home in anticipation. According to Minako, one of the other drivers will bring Viktor over, because Yuuri shouldn’t show his face near Viktor’s hotel because of the lingering press presence outside the building. Just because the Japanese press is now muzzled from printing stories about their relationship, doesn’t mean they won’t keep watching and digging, waiting for a story to slip to the foreign press so that they can report on it as well.

And so it is very late when Yuuko informs him that Viktor is here, and Yuuri barely hears the end of her sentence before he is flying out through the hallway, skidding to a very undignified stop in the main foyer just as Takeshi is passing through.

“Where is Viktor?” he asks. Takeshi bows to him, his broad face twinkling with good-natured mischief.

“There’s a delivery for Your Highness in the back,” he says, and Yuuri rapidly changes course.

By the time he arrives in the kitchens, which are closest to the loading dock for deliveries to the palace, Viktor is already standing amid the marble counters and stainless-steel appliances, his expression winded as he looks around him. “I’m inclined to think all of this is a big hazing ritual,” he tells Yuuri as soon as the chamberlains grab his suitcase and garment bags from him. Yuuri can’t help but grin at that as he steps forward and bows, which Viktor returns just as smoothly.

“I’m so sorry,” Viktor adds when he rises from his bow, and Yuuri shakes his head, opening his arms to welcome Viktor into them.

Viktor tucks his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck with very little hesitation; Yuuri closes his eyes in return and inhales the scent of his aftershave. “I was a little angry,” he confesses when they pull apart. “But I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” Viktor points out. “I said things I shouldn’t have said.”

“After extensive harassment from the press in two separate countries,” Yuuri replies. “Welcome to the background radiation of my life.”

“I’ve been a public figure once or twice before, because of what I’ve written,” Viktor says, idly brushing a stray strand of hair out of Yuuri’s eyes. Yuuri feels his heart skip a beat; he extends his hand and leads Viktor out of the kitchens, his feet treading down well-worn corridors back to his room.

“But you haven’t been a public figure just for being who you _are_ ,” he points out, once they stop in front of the sliding doors to his room. “It’s really very different — but are you hungry?” he asks suddenly. “I’m sorry for not asking it sooner. I can have a chef make you something.”

Viktor shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “I just want to hold you again.”

Yuuri smiles at that, his chest unbelievably light at the words. “Okay,” he breathes, and as soon as the door slides closed behind them in Yuuri’s room he leans forward and captures Viktor’s lips with his own.

Viktor melts into his kiss, his hands wandering down Yuuri’s back to settle at his waist. Yuuri’s shirt suddenly feels too stifling; when they break apart, he quickly tugs off his tie and undoes the top buttons, thrilling at how Viktor licks his lips in response before doing the same to his own shirt and tie. Wordlessly, they step towards Yuuri’s room together, hardly able to keep their bodies apart for more than seconds at a time.

Before Yuuri even realises it, he’s shirtless and lying heavily on his bed, Viktor’s talented mouth slowly making its way down his body. Each kiss feels like an act of penance, each nip a bid for forgiveness, each lick a cry of repentance, and if Yuuri hadn’t been hardening earlier from their kisses, he definitely is now. In the dim lamplight of the room, Viktor’s own trousers are tented as he straddles Yuuri’s lap, and it’s with considerable excitement that Yuuri reaches out to unbuckle the fly of his boyfriend’s trousers.

“Yuuri,” gasps Viktor, his silver hair falling into his eyes as Yuuri slowly drags down the zipper. “Get on with it.”

“Ask nicely,” Yuuri teases.

“Please,” begs Viktor, and Yuuri grins, before opening the fly and freeing Viktor’s hard cock from his pants. Viktor mewls at that, canting his hips into Yuuri’s touch as he scrambles to rid himself of his shirt.

Yuuri touches him with sure strokes, savouring every last hitched breath and whimper. Viktor rocks into his hands, biting hard and needy at his lips while his hands fist desperately at the sheets. Yuuri suddenly realises he wants to see Viktor further undone, and stills his hand to a wanton whine of disappointment.

“Patience,” he murmurs against Viktor’s ear, and the other man stills just long enough for Yuuri to flip their positions, pressing himself against Viktor’s crotch as he starts to rain kisses down Viktor’s neck. Viktor makes a needy noise in his throat, but remains docile as Yuuri straightens up to rid him of his trousers and pants, leaving him bared to Yuuri’s gaze.

In the soft glow of the lamp, the light sheen of sweat already beading across Viktor’s skin makes him shimmer like gold. Yuuri’s breath hitches as he pauses to take it in, along with the rosy flush spreading from Viktor’s cheeks southward along his body. The man is beautiful beyond words, the very movement of his body better than poetry. Yuuri would gladly spend the rest of his life crafting one, just to be able to capture this moment in his memory forever.

But there would never be enough time in the universe for that, so Yuuri has to settle for loving him now, physically and ephemerally until his heart feels fit to burst. He lays claim to Viktor’s body, presses proof of his presence against Viktor’s pale skin. Viktor, in turn, snakes a hand down between their bodies, fumbling greedily at Yuuri’s own fly.

“I need to feel you,” he murmurs, breath tickling Yuuri’s ear, and that’s probably the last intelligible thing either of them say as Viktor’s bare cock brushes against Yuuri’s clothed one, and all thoughts that don’t pertain to how much more of Viktor he needs fly from Yuuri’s mind.

At some point he, too, loses his trousers and pants. At some point, he takes Viktor into his hands, into his mouth, ever in pursuit of another way to unravel this extraordinary man lying underneath him now. Viktor loses all restraint the instant Yuuri’s mouth closes around the tip of his cock; it takes Yuuri’s hand against his pelvis to keep him steady as he starts to bob his head along the shaft. He’s a vocal lover, clearly; with each stroke of Yuuri’s tongue along the underside of his cock, Viktor lets loose a string of moans punctuated with what Yuuri suspects are Russian expletives.

He’s missed this, in the seemingly endless days since they last saw one another. He doesn’t want to live like that anymore, with six hours between them at all times and breathless whispers across a staticky phone connection the only thing to tide them over until their next physical meeting. He wants Viktor closer, but not if it will lure him into the gilded cage of royal life. Viktor is too bright, too shining, too spirited to be broken by the protocol of Imperial bureaucracy; Yuuri would rather never speak to him again than to see that happen.

“Yuuri,” whines Viktor, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts. “Thinking.”

Yuuri chuckles, though most of the sound is lost around the shaft of Viktor’s cock. Viktor’s breath suddenly hitches, and without warning he’s spilling into Yuuri’s mouth, gasping his pleasure into the quiet space between them.

Yuuri doesn’t swallow, though; the taste is still too foreign for him. He reaches for tissues on the nightstand, and wipes his mouth before holding up a condom packet and a bottle of lube with a questioning glance.

Viktor nods, still flushed from orgasm as he sprawls out across Yuuri’s sheets, his silver hair fanning out in a halo around him. He brackets his legs around Yuuri’s hips, his pale pink smile soft with affection, and Yuuri captures it with a kiss before pressing a slick finger into his lover.

He slowly works Viktor open, drinking in Viktor’s moans as he rocks his fingers inside him. Viktor’s fingers press crescents against his back; he wraps a leg around Yuuri’s hip, urging himself closer. Yuuri loses himself briefly in Viktor’s tight heat; if Viktor already feels this good around his fingers, how much better will he feel around Yuuri’s cock?

Unable to wait any longer, he quickly yanks open the foil wrapper and rolls on the condom, slicking it further with some more lube before turning to Viktor.

“Okay?” he asks, momentarily unsure.

Viktor’s response is to arch his hips, a teasing smile playing at his lips. Yuuri’s hands shake a little as he braces himself against the headboard, and then he’s pressing inside, losing himself to the divine feeling of being connected with Viktor like this once more.

Despite the limited time they have together, Yuuri moves as though they have all of the time in the world. Here in this moment they don’t have expectations, or restraints, or time limits — they can exist not as the reporter and the prince, but as Viktor and Yuuri. Viktor comes undone beneath him, all the tension in his frame seeping out as he gives himself over to sensation. Yuuri follows closely, the rest of his world slipping away with each thrust until there is nothing left but him and Viktor.

Viktor takes his hand afterwards, pressing kisses along his wrist to his fingers. After Yuuri cleans them up and disposes of the condom, he dims the lights settles back into Viktor’s arms, curling up tight against his chest and listening to his heartbeat.

“You’re right,” Viktor says after a moment, his voice loud in the quiet hum of the heater in the room. “I’m not ready for royal life.”

Yuuri’s chest freezes. He feels Viktor press a kiss to his forehead, soft and thoughtful, and tries to will his own heart to stop racing.

“At least, not now,” Viktor adds after a long moment. “I’m still new to all of this, and the fact that I only see your life in one or two-day snippets means I don’t actually have any idea what it’s like to live like you do every day.”

Yuuri says nothing to that, only looks up to meet Viktor’s gaze. He takes Viktor’s hand, grazing his lips against the spot where Viktor’s pulse flutters in his wrist. Viktor exhales shakily; in the dim light of the room Yuuri wonders if his eyes had always been that shiny.

And then Viktor smiles. “I want to move to Japan,” he says.

“To Tokyo?” asks Yuuri quietly. Viktor nods, reaching out and brushing some of Yuuri’s hair out of his eyes, his fingers soft against Yuuri’s cheeks.

“I want to be here. To see more of you, and learn more about what it would take to stand by your side. But I don’t want to impose myself in your life immediately. I’ll get an apartment in the city, and you can come visit me whenever you want, and we’ll — we’ll try our best to be like any other couple.”

Yuuri swallows. “Do you think that’s even possible?” he asks quietly. “That we can be like other couples when I need the Kunaicho’s approval for everything?”

“It’s worth a try,” says Viktor, pressing another kiss to Yuuri’s hair. “I want this to work out, solnyshko.”

Yuuri exhales, and leans up to kiss Viktor’s lips. “I do, too,” he confesses, before tucking his head against the crook of Viktor’s neck. “I want to know you better. I want you by my side for as long as you’re willing. I just —” he breaks off, and then looks up at Viktor again. “I just want you to be happy.”

Viktor smiles. “I’m so happy right now,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss Yuuri one last time.

Yuuri returns his smile as easy as breathing. “I’m so happy, too,” he replies, and closes his eyes.

* * *

**To:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
so, quick question  
someone from yolo wants 2 interview u  & they asked if i could arrange it  
they wanna do something casual, get 2kno the prince kinda thing

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
You know all interview requests have to go through the press office

 **To:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
okay but wat r the odds that the kunaicho will let u do this interview  
pretty sure anything ~casual~ will be rejected on sight  
esp if it’s with viktor and they rlly want viktor too

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
Point

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
I do like the idea of doing a casual interview with Viktor though

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
I’ll put in a word with Minako?

 **To:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
cool cool  
they can do it @ togu if u dont wanna go out in public ofc

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
You could come visit me if it doesn’t work out w/ Minako

 **To:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
oooh  
yea yea  
i gotchu fam

 **From:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 **To:** Yuuri (´・(oo)・｀)  
(｀・ω・´)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requirements for Imperial consorts: These are all taken precisely from [several articles](http://benhills.com/articles/japan-unlimited/a-modern-masako-goes-backwards-in-time/) written about [the requirements](http://www.nytimes.com/1993/01/07/world/tokyo-journal-finally-prince-finds-a-bride-a-harvard-woman.html?mcubz=1) for a Crown Princess of Japan. A pretty tall order, honestly, and Viktor's breaking so many of them already.
> 
> Russo-Japanese relations, take two: The current situation IRL is that Putin and Abe are trying to do joint economic ventures in the Kuril Islands, though neither wants to cede their claim. Putin wants the islands because if Japan claims them, the US could potentially establish bases there. Abe wants the islands because, well. Because. (The exact reason escapes me rn.) In this AU, however, Lilia is not Putin (she's more like Merkel, honestly) and so her approach to the situation must be different from his.
> 
> Elisabeth das Musical: I am obligated as a big fan of this musical to drop at least one reference to it in any royalty AUs I write. Considering it's about a woman who threw away her childhood when she married the Emperor of Austria, the moral... seemed fitting. Takarazuka (all-female Japanese musical theatre troupe) does a production of it every two years or so.
> 
> Kaiseki: Japanese haute cuisine. The restaurant they visit in this chapter is Ise Sueyoshi in Minato.
> 
> "Shadier channels": The story about Japanese news offices getting sprayed with bullets [actually happened](http://articles.latimes.com/1997/sep/06/news/mn-29460) in 1993 after two magazines criticised Empress Michiko for asking for instant ramen and peeled apples at 3AM. No one was arrested for those attacks, but as you can see in the source, people attribute them to right-wing thugs.
> 
> "Next time we're in bed": Apparently once a Japanese celebrity got tired of reporters hounding him and his girlfriend and asking questions about their relationship, so he shot off this witty one-liner that has just enough deniability -- they're in bed together, but he doesn't say if that's in a platonic or sexual sense! The implication's clear, though. (Thank you to lucycamui who suggested this!)
> 
> The British Royals: WOW, WHAT SERENDIPITY! Congrats to Harry and Megan! That being said, this is an actual thing Japanese reporters have said in response to how much tabloids like to gossip about the British Royals. After Diana and various paparazzi scandals such as Squidgeygate and Camillagate, the Windsors really don't look as aloof and as untouchable as they had been before! (Honestly that era was a great time to reveal world leader wrongdoings on both sides of the Atlantic, though, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) In Japan, the Kunaicho have more or less imposed a 'Chrysanthemum taboo' on stories about the Imperial Family that show them doing human things. Coupled with the Imperial Family just simply... not acting out ever, it's no wonder Japan's gossip rags have very little to print about their Imperial Family (I say print, because if a member of the Imperial Family does something out of line, everyone knows about it, but no one dares to print it lol).


	5. a sky full of flowers

******phichit+chu** honmei choco, anyone? #valentinesday

_liked by princekatsukis, v-nikiforov, and 6549 others_

> **katsudone** HOLY SHIT IS THAT YUURI
> 
> **supahstar** that looks so good phichit! is it for someone special? ;)
> 
> **phichit+chu** @supahstar you bet it is!
> 
> **geugseongs** wow this is adorable! whoever is getting that is super lucky!

 

 **v-nikiforov** i’ve never celebrated #whiteday before! this is exciting (*´ ♡ `*)

_liked by the-royalistas, christophe-gc, and 4134 others_

> **yuri-plisetsky** what the hell did you do, buy out the entire candy store? weirdo
> 
> **christophe-gc** ahh you can’t stop true love ;)
> 
> **nikki5eva** omg yuuri’s so lucky!!!
> 
> **princekatsukis** Viktor are you going to deliver it in person? Hope to see you at hanami! Japan is so pretty this time of year! (´ ♡ ˘ ʃƪ)

* * *

In March, Japan unfurls its cherry blossoms, the petals soft and delicate as they perfume the air with their sweet scent.

The cherry blossom front doesn’t arrive in Tokyo until late March, however, but the tourists are already flocking, cameras at the ready for the first buds to open. And then all at once at the end of March the air is thick with soft pink petals, and everywhere Yuuri goes he sees people enjoying themselves beneath the rosy boughs, lost in their own little worlds.

With the arrival of the cherry blossoms in Tokyo comes the Imperial hanami ceremony, which Yuuri attends along with the rest of the family. Beneath the oldest cherry tree on the palace grounds, the entire Imperial Family sits together, sipping sake and soberly discussing the ephemerality of life. Like the blossoms themselves, the ceremony is over almost as soon as it starts, with everyone’s busy schedules tearing them in different directions. The Emperor and Empress, for example, must attend several benefit events and receptions today, and the other princes and princesses have functions and organisations as well.

Yuuri, on the other hand, has a relatively clear day. He has to meet with a set of marine biologist researchers from Scotland as well as some distinguished scholars from Gakushuin High School in the morning, and then he has a reception for several newly-posted foreign ambassadors at the State Guest House in the evening. But beyond that, his schedule is free for the day, and there are texts from Viktor burning a hole in his phone. The last time he’d checked it, Viktor had sent a picture against a bough of soft pink blooms, with a pack of rowdy commoners blurry in the background.

 _Meet me at your hotel at 1:45_ , he texts, and adds a string of sakura emoji. Viktor responds with a quick thumbs-up, and Yuuri smiles.

His team take him through the meetings like clockwork. He smiles and shakes the hands of the Scottish researchers, makes the right thoughtful noises at their study on dwindling seal populations in Northern Scotland. They’re here to study the same phenomenon in Hokkaido, and Yuuri wishes them well in their endeavours before being whisked off to his old alma mater.

The Gakushuin event is a luncheon, but Yuuri can’t stay long; he shakes the hands of each kid and wraps up one of the sandwiches that they offer him to eat in the car. His old teachers smile knowingly at him when he passes by. The sober dark uniforms that the students are wearing bring back his own childhood misadventures, and how those days had been the last days anyone had bothered calling him ‘Yuuri-kun’ or ‘Prince Katsudon’ or any of the other fun childhood nicknames that he had borne like a badge of honour.

But Viktor’s bringing some of that back into his life, now. He calls Yuuri by his name instead of his title, and sometimes he even calls him things in Russian. Given how gentle his tone is when he says them, Yuuri suspects (and hopes) that they’re endearments.

He likes it. Likes not being treated with kid gloves or as a symbol for something other than himself for once in his life. Viktor is a man who simply craves closeness, who is somehow both worldly and naive in the same breath in his attempts to connect to Yuuri as a person instead of a prince. Being caught between those two states, between craving that personal connection and being terrified by Viktor’s naive optimism regarding the royal lifestyle, seems to be Yuuri’s perpetual state of being now, and he’s honestly not quite sure what to do about it.

Takeshi pulls the car up to the curb of an unassuming building in a relatively quiet part of Shibuya. After they left Gakushuin, Takeshi had released the police motorcade and switched Yuuri from the official limo to another black car without the Imperial accoutrements, so that their presence out here would be more or less unremarkable. It’s a little less comfortable in the ordinary black car, but Yuuri doesn’t care — he actually likes it more when it’s just him and Takeshi, with the other guards simply cruising around the block in their own car instead of smothering Yuuri in his.

Yuuri fires off a text, and moments later Viktor comes striding out of the hotel front doors with a satchel and a grin. He’s dressed down in light grey slacks and a dark blue shirt, with a light blue blazer casually thrown over his shoulders, and Yuuri suddenly feels extremely conscious and overdressed as Takeshi gets out and opens the door for Viktor to get in.

“Yuuri,” says Viktor, a small smile playing at his lips as he kisses Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri’s stomach flips in on itself in response; he’s certain his cheeks are on fire as he reaches out to cup Viktor’s face.

“Let’s go see the flowers,” he suggests, before pressing a kiss to Viktor’s cheek and then settling back into his seat, his hand inching towards Viktor’s. “I’ve never done that outside the Imperial and Akasaka Palace grounds before.”

Yuuri had initially wanted to go to Yoyogi Park. When Viktor had first planned this trip to Japan, he had told Yuuri about wanting to try hanami while in Tokyo, and how all the sites had suggested that one of the most popular spots for doing so was that park. Takeshi had pointed out that it would be too crowded for them, but Yuuri was determined to let Viktor see for himself. Sure enough, every last inch of ground in Yoyogi Park seems to be covered in brightly-coloured tarps, and the streets surrounding the park are as jammed with cars as the park itself is jammed with people. In the distance, the sound of loud music can be heard, alongside the buzz of a million voices chattering at once.

“I told you so, Your Highness,” says Takeshi almost smugly as they inch their way through the heavy traffic. Yuuri sighs, looking out at the happy, drunken bodies swaying beneath the blossom-laden boughs, at the families with their children, the couples holding hands, and the big company groups playing pranks on their poor, passed-out interns.

“Do you know any spots that are quieter, Takeshi-san?”

His head of security thinks for a moment. “The creek in Shukugawara is lined with cherry blossoms,” he says, “and it should hopefully be quieter there since Kawasaki’s out in the suburbs. I used to take Yuuko there before we had the triplets.”

Yuuri looks at Viktor, who’s looking between the two of them with some confusion. “He’s going to take us somewhere quieter,” he explains in English, and Viktor makes an ‘ah’ of understanding, before smiling.

“I can imagine _that’s_ going to be a security nightmare,” he says, nodding towards the revellers.

“Most things in Japan are,” replies Yuuri, and squeezes Viktor’s hand as Takeshi begins to head towards Kawasaki in the suburbs of Tokyo.

The drive to Shukugawara takes almost an hour, given the extensive traffic. Yuuri at first tries to stay upright as they slowly meander through the streets, his head craning up at the bright advertisements and signs plastered across buildings and bus stops. Viktor’s hand is warm in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against Yuuri’s palm. Whenever Yuuri looks at him, Viktor would turn from the window and smile at him, the afternoon light filling the car casting his face in a soft golden glow.

He first settles against Viktor when they hit the expressway, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder and pressing their bodies closer together. Viktor puts an arm around him, his heartbeat fluttering erratic against Yuuri’s fingertips. Yuuri looks up again, pressing a kiss along the underside of Viktor’s jaw, smiling at the play of sunlight through Viktor’s lashes.

“How have you been?” asks Viktor quietly, his hand warm against Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri shivers a little, shifting further against him and tucking his face against Viktor’s neck.

“Busy,” he sighs, closing his eyes. Viktor hums at that, and moments later Yuuri feels his head being guided down to rest in Viktor’s lap, and the reporter’s fingers carding gently through his hair.

“I bet,” says Viktor. “I saw the footage of you sending off Team Japan to Pyeongchang. Loved your speech, once I could get subtitles.”

Yuuri laughs a little at that. “I also got to watch some of the figure skating events,” he says. “I dunno if you saw footage of that, though.”

“I did see you congratulating Minami on his gold medal,” Viktor says. “He seemed like he’d died and gone to heaven.”

“Well, he _did_ just win Olympic gold,” Yuuri reasons, but Viktor laughs, fondly exasperated.

“There you go again, downplaying just how much people like you,” he remarks, taking Yuuri’s hand and pressing kisses to his wrist. “Pretty sure Minami made a bigger deal out of meeting you on Twitter than out of his gold medal.”

The conversation drifts to Yuuri’s other events, alongside what Viktor has been up to in Saint Petersburg. He’d also been asked to cover some Olympic-related events, though he hadn’t gone to Pyeongchang himself.

“Shame, we could have met up there if you did,” Yuuri says, looking up at Viktor, who laughs at that.

“Given the media circus that the Olympics tends to be, would that really be such a good idea?” wonders Viktor, raising an eyebrow. Yuuri sighs; he has a point, though Yuuri doesn’t necessarily like it.

Yuuri’s starting to nod off by the time they get there. The combination of Viktor’s fingers in his hair, Viktor’s voice soothing in his recounting of Makkachin’s antics, and Viktor’s lap warm beneath his back had all been too much for him. When Viktor gently nudges him back awake, Yuuri jolts up in alarm to find the car parked in a spot along a small residential road in Shukugawara, and Takeshi already convincing the lady whose house they’d just parked in front of to let them stay there for a couple hours.

Viktor clambers out of the car, stretching lightly before extending a hand to help Yuuri out. He grabs his satchel then and slings it over one shoulder, waving cheerily at the woman Takeshi is talking to. She takes one look at the two of them, and then almost faints on the spot.

“She’ll be okay, right?” asks Yuuri, once Takeshi has managed to curb the lady’s enthusiastic bowing and offers of further hospitality. His head of security sends him the okay sign, so Yuuri smiles and takes Viktor’s arm and steers him back to the boot of the car, on top of which Takeshi has already placed the picnic basket Yuuri had packed (or rather, asked his chef to pack) earlier in the morning.

Together, they head down the quiet little embankment lined in clouds of pink blossoms. Several small bridges and platforms span the creek, some of them large enough for vehicles and others only little wooden footbridges. The banks themselves are little more than wood-and-stone platforms along the swift waterway, but they all fall directly under the boughs of the cherry trees, and are half-hidden from the road. A couple families and couples are out here now, picnic blankets spread and food laid out. Yuuri can’t help but notice the sheer disparity between these folks and the revellers at Yoyogi Park.

Takeshi catches up with them then, grinning from ear to ear. “The other guards are going to be here soon,” he says.

“You should take them to lunch in town,” Yuuri says. “Viktor and I will stay in this area.”

“At least one of us should watch you,” Takeshi points out, and Yuuri feels a little twinge of embarrassment in him, like he’s six years old again and alarmingly cognisant of the fact that everyone else in his class has a surname except him.

“If you insist,” he says, knowing that Takeshi just means well. “Maybe you guys could have your own hanami, but not too close? Viktor and I would like to be alone.”

‘Mostly out of earshot’ is the best approximation he can get to ‘totally alone’ while outside the bubble of the Palace estates, and he’ll just have to deal with it for now. Viktor seems fine with it, considering his bracing smile, so Yuuri takes his hand and continues to lead him down the road in search of a good hanami spot.

A portion of the embankment runs parallel to a set of train tracks, separated from the rest of the town with a barrier of wood and wildflowers. Pressed along this barrier is a gaggle of primary school students, dressed for an outing in bright pink hats and holding hands as they file along with their teachers. Viktor’s eyes light up at the sight of them.

“They’ve got such adorable hats,” he gushes. “They didn’t do anything like that when _I_ went to school.”

Yuuri chuckles at that, and waves at a couple of the kids. Of course, that gets the teachers to notice, too, and suddenly the schoolchildren are drilled into perfect lines, bowing and smiling politely at their prince.

Feeling his cheeks and ears heat up, Yuuri bows back at them and asks them to carry on as if he wasn’t there. Sure enough, the rumble of an oncoming train is exciting enough to distract the children, and they start jumping and waving at the train as it passes by in a blur of silver and orange. Yuuri takes the opportunity to slip with Viktor down the nearest set of steps onto the wooden platforms flanking the creek, Viktor’s laughter echoing in their wake like little bells.

Finally, they spread their blanket under the boughs of a large tree next to a small wooden footbridge. Yuuri had foregone a tarp in favour of a goza mat instead, which Viktor tops with a faded old blue gingham blanket. Toeing off his shoes, Yuuri then lays out a small bento for two consisting mostly of onigiri, dango, and sakuramochi, as well as a couple small rolls of sushi and tamagoyaki.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything warm to eat or drink,” he says as he brings out a bottle of sake and some plastic cups, pouring them both a small shot. Viktor laughs, reaching into his satchel and producing a thermos.

“I got some sencha this morning,” he explains, and Yuuri’s eyes light up.

Viktor seems captivated by the food and drink, scarfing down his portions quickly and enthusiastically. Within half an hour most of the food is already gone, and Viktor is washing all of it down with another cup of sake. “I have something else for you,” he says suddenly, reaching into his satchel once more. “I’m sorry I didn’t really contribute to this picnic —”

“You wouldn’t have known how to,” Yuuri points out. “But then again, _I_ wasn’t super sure about the details, either. The entire tradition might have started with my family, but there’s been a lot of changes since then.”

Viktor chuckles at that, before rummaging in his satchel and pulling out a white box and handing it to Yuuri. “I’m pretty sure the old Imperial Family had never anticipated revellers dressed in bright pink morphsuits to become part of their cherry blossom tradition, but yeah.”

Yuuri eyes the box curiously. “What’s that?” he asks.

Viktor grins. “I really appreciated the chocolate you sent me for Valentines’ Day,” he replies. “And I’m sorry it took longer than that for this to get to you.”

Yuuri takes the box, peeling back the paper to find an astonishing amount of chocolate bars all printed with bright Cyrillic lettering and pictures of Saint Petersburg.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of chocolate you preferred to eat,” Viktor admits. “Yours were handmade, according to Phichit, but I was worried I’d burn down the building if I tried doing that.”

Yuuri thumbs through the chocolate bars, noting that they’re all different kinds, ranging from hazelnuts to orange bits and toffee fillings. Next to him, Viktor continues to babble. “Since I didn’t know what you liked I just got you a sampling from the local Krupskaya shop, so if there’s anything that you don’t like in there, I could —”

Yuuri cuts him off with a kiss, sweet headiness suffusing through him like the burn of the sake down his throat. Every inch of him feels warm and loved already, as if he’s already taken a bite of one of the chocolates, and he cups Viktor’s face to keep the man closer just a moment longer before pulling back and smiling.

“Thank you,” he says. “It’s sweet of you.”

Viktor laughs weakly. “It’s not much,” he admits. “It’s not a custom-designed fountain pen, for one.”

Yuuri feels his face heating up at that. “I’d… I’d actually wanted to order something from them for a while,” he admits. “But I didn’t think I could justify something so extravagant for myself. So I thought, well. You’re a writer, you could put it to better —”

It’s Viktor’s turn to shut him up, and Yuuri melts into the kiss immediately, his hands falling down to rest on Viktor’s shoulders. Slowly Viktor falls back against the blanket, bringing Yuuri with him; when they break apart, Yuuri looks down at the shadows of cherry blossoms dappled across Viktor’s face, and feels his heart stutter for just a moment.

“I’m glad we could do this,” he says quietly, looking to the side at the babbling creek just inches from them, at the clouds of pink dropping soft petals in the water and on their blanket. A petal falls into Viktor’s hair; Yuuri captures the image in his mind’s eye and tucks it away for a rainy day.

They finish up the food but not the drinks, and then Viktor helps Yuuri pack up the picnic and the chocolates. As they ascend the bank back up to the road, they notice that the school group is gone and the guards are loitering by the wooden railing, smoking cigarettes and passing around a convenience store-bought hanami bento.

“Where to next, Your Highness?” asks Takeshi, peeling away from the other guards with an easygoing smile. The other guards look up and freeze to attention, three cigarette butts subtly being ground out on the asphalt behind them.

Viktor looks thoughtfully at Yuuri. “How free is the rest of your afternoon?” he asks.

“I’ve got nothing until five,” replies Yuuri.

Viktor beams. “Want to help me apartment shop?”

* * *

Viktor has one more apartment to look at, and he’s glad that this time Takeshi is here to assess its safety features in person.

The apartment building is situated at an intersection across from the National Art Centre, a pillar of steel and glass bright against the afternoon sky. Takeshi drops them off at the curb, telling Viktor he’s going to go park the car, and Yuuri squeezes Viktor’s arm briefly as they enter the building.

There’s immediately a flurry of activity when they step into the lobby. The receptionists at the front desk spring to their feet, bowing whenever Yuuri so much as looks in their direction. Viktor, on the other hand, goes largely ignored as he sends off a text to his real estate agent.

She shows up moments later, sharply dressed in a cream-coloured suit and pencil skirt and her hair swept into an auburn bob. Quickly hanging up her call, she bows to Yuuri and the starry-eyed receptionists before turning to Viktor and bobbing her head.

“Viktor-san, my apologies for being late. Let’s go see the apartment, shall we?”

Viktor nods, briefly smiling at Takeshi from over his agent’s shoulder as he slips in after her. “It’s all right, Komatsu-san. Do you mind if…?” he asks, gesturing to Yuuri, who waves a little, trepidation written plain across his face. His agent nods, before bowing to Yuuri again and saying something deeply reverent in Japanese, based on how heavily Yuuri flushes and his flustered response.

Viktor watches as his agent then turns to the receptionists. A couple hurried exchanges later, they’re all being shuttled up in an elevator to the apartment in question, and Ms Komatsu is checking something on her phone.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” she says after a moment. “Their pet policy is very lenient, so you can bring your poodle here, no problem. They also have a 24-hour front desk and auto-lock security, the building has seismic damping walls for limited impact, and there’s storerooms of emergency drinking water and food in case of disasters. Plus a gym and a lounge, parking for bikes and cars, and delivery storage lockers if you need it.”

“But the apartment’s still largely unfurnished, isn’t it?” asks Viktor.

“Yes,” says Ms Komatsu. “But they do have some appliances — the washer, the dryer, a dishwasher, an oven, air conditioning. Everything is brand new, recently renovated.”

Viktor nods and turns to Takeshi. “What do you think?” he asks. Takeshi had offered critiques and reservations about several of the other buildings that Viktor had visited over the past couple of days, usually via text and video call. This time, however, he folds his arms and looks ahead, obviously contemplating.

They arrive at the apartment, and Ms Komatsu unlocks the door with a soft click. Light streams in through the vast windows, giving the entire living room a large, airy feeling. The apartment is empty, unfurnished save for the aforementioned appliances, but as Viktor steps through the space, admiring the sleek mahogany cabinets and shining marble floors, he can’t help but envision already inhabiting it with Yuuri and Makkachin filling out all of the nooks and crannies.

“Small balcony, high up,” remarks Takeshi thoughtfully, stepping out onto it and looking out at the panoramic Tokyo skyline. “View of Roppongi Hills and Tokyo Tower.”

“Looking for something in particular?” asks Viktor.

“You know I didn’t approve of the others because they were too close to the smaller buildings nearby,” replies Takeshi. “I’m a little wary of the windows here, but I think you may be high up enough that it won’t be too big of an issue. I do suggest making sure curtains are at the top of your list of purchases, though.”

Viktor nods, and then he turns to Yuuri, who is poking around the empty master bedroom, worrying at his lips with his teeth. Viktor opens the door to the master bath, grinning as he reveals a large, luxurious bathtub with a detachable showerhead. Yuuri perches on the edge and glances thoughtfully out the window.

“What do you think?” Viktor asks.

“I don’t know,” says Yuuri. “I didn’t see the other ones.”

“I sent you some photos, didn’t I?” asks Viktor, pulling out his phone and showing Yuuri the photos. Yuuri smiles, thumbing through the others with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Either you’re a terrible photographer, or they’re terrible apartments,” he says, and Viktor laughs, settling down on the edge of the tub with him.

“And this one’s better?” he asks, gesturing all around. Yuuri considers it, leaning his head on Viktor’s shoulder as he continues to browse the photos, and then he nods.

“This one’s very bright,” he says. “And Takeshi seems to like it.”

Up at this level, the noise of the city seems to fall into a distant roar. Viktor leads Yuuri back into the bedroom, pauses in front of the window and looks out at the tiny buildings of the Tokyo skyline stretching out below.

“Imagine waking to this,” he says. “I mean, you probably don’t get any of this hustle and bustle because you’re pretty much situated in a park, so it’d be exciting to actually live in the city, right?”

He feels Yuuri’s arm around his waist, his chin on his shoulder. “Yeah,” the prince agrees, before pressing a kiss to the spot just under Viktor’s nape. “How much is it, though?”

Viktor pulls up the listing on his phone. “Two hundred and forty-one million yen,” he says.

Yuuri blinks at him. “ _No way_ ,” he says. “That’s almost the annual cost for the _entire_ Imperial Family.”

Viktor shrugs. “I still have a trust fund from my parents, and I’ll be renting out my apartment in Saint Petersburg on top of my job. Also, this is one of the biggest apartments we’ve looked at over the past couple of days, and it’s in such a nice part of town, too.”

“You’re willing to drop over two hundred million yen on an apartment in Tokyo,” states Yuuri.

“Isn’t it par for the course in Roppongi? I hear some of the penthouse suites at Roppongi Hills sell for more than this amount,” Viktor points out.

Yuuri shrugs. “I wouldn’t know,” he says, and takes Viktor’s hand, leading him back to the entry corridor and the little balcony with its spectacular view of the Tokyo skyline. “But I’m starting to suspect you’re going to find royal life a definite downgrade from what you’re used to.”

“I’m not —” Viktor cuts off, laughing. “I’m just willing to spend this amount to be close to you,” he points out with a pout.

“But if you’re going to be serious about seeing how well you fit with my family, Viktor, then you must know we live very simply compared to other royal families.” Yuuri leans on the railing, his eyes sparkling with amusement nonetheless. “We live off allowances from the state and have limited access to our funds.”

“So, like a bunch of monks,” Viktor remarks, earning himself a little protesting jab. “No, but I get it. You want to know if I can be more frugal, right?”

“And dropping over two hundred million yen on an apartment is nowhere near frugal,” Yuuri points out.

“It’s the only one out of all of the apartments that Takeshi likes,” Viktor points out. “It’s a nice, big apartment for Makkachin, close to places where I can walk him as well as public transit. You’re just a short walk from here, and my work is a short metro ride away, too.”

Yuui purses his lips. “Are you sure you want this one?” he asks. “I don’t want you to drop so much money on an apartment just because of me.”

It’s astounding how frequently his prince thinks of himself as a burden. Thinks of himself as a weight on the country, a useless bauble propped up by the state instead of the symbol of national unity that he was born to be. Viktor sighs, reaching up and tucking away stray strands of Yuuri’s hair before leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Why not?” he asks. “You’re worth the investment.”

“It’s two hundred million yen,” Yuuri repeats, though his tone is half-hearted. “I mean. It’s your choice, but I still think it’s —”

“I like this one,” Viktor declares, smiling at Ms Komatsu as she peers out at them on the balcony. “We’ll take it.”

* * *

If he’s going to be completely honest with himself, Yuuri is actually rather happy that Viktor has decided to settle close to him. The pricing of the apartment, while exorbitant in and of itself, makes a little sense given the context of its location and size. Still, if Viktor’s willing to shell out a ton of money to be near him, Yuuri’s not going to complain too hard about it.

He unfortunately has to run to an event soon after Viktor decides on the apartment, but not before taking Viktor aside and inviting him to dinner.

“Are you sure? You have that reception to go to,” Viktor points out.

“I don’t eat at official appearances,” Yuuri replies, shaking his head. “I look too undignified.”

Viktor chuckles at that. He looks over at where Takeshi and his agent are talking, their voices hushed and their bodies deliberately turned away, before swooping in to peck Yuuri on the cheek. Yuuri feels his face light on fire from where Viktor’s lips meet his skin.

“I watched you eat for an entire afternoon and I still think it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” Viktor’s voice teases against his ear. Yuuri laughs at that, pulling back to scrunch his brows at him.

“You have odd taste in entertainment,” he declares, and Viktor grins, reaching out to cup Yuuri’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promises, and Yuuri smiles all the way home.

Well, not quite home. At least to the car, where he tucks the smile away and smooths himself over for the diplomatic reception at Akasaka Estate. The drive is quiet, punctuated by the low rumble of the radio discussing some changes to the centre-left Progressive Democratic Party in preparation for the upcoming elections at the end of the year. Yuuri tunes most of it out, until:

“… _Tensions are already running high in the Progressive Democratic Party, with some people proclaiming that party leader Kanako Odagaki is being too radical in her acceptance of the Crown Prince’s rumoured romantic partner and her pushes for reforming the Imperial Household Law. Some members are talking about defecting to the Democratic Peace Party, which may hurt Odagaki’s standings in the elections at the end of the year. Meanwhile Matsudaira’s approval rating has fallen following a comment he made about the talks with newly re-elected Russian President Lilia Baranovskaya back in January_ …”

“Is that true?” asks Yuuri.

Takeshi makes a questioning noise. “What is, Your Highness?”

“That the Diet wants to reform the Imperial Household Law.”

“One party member talking about it doesn’t mean everyone wants to do it,” replies Takeshi.

“But it’s in someone’s mind,” Yuuri points out. “What do you think?”

Takeshi smiles at him in the rearview mirror. “It’s not my place to discuss politics with Your Highness,” he points out. “But I support those who are willing to let you be happy.”

Yuuri only briefly swings by the palace for a quick change, Minako having decided that his current suit has been too lived-in for a proper public appearance. His hair is gelled back and his contacts are put in, and then he is given a little bit of food to eat to tide him through the reception and all the free-flowing food that he will not be allowed to touch.

He is driven over to Akasaka Estate, despite living only a park away, and arrives with much pomp and fanfare. The diplomats — various consulate officials and ambassadors who had been presented to him and his parents mere days before — and their spouses bow to him as he enters; the press of their eyes on him makes his neck prickle unpleasantly.

It isn’t _all_ bad, of course. After getting through the meet-and-greet, he’s allowed a glass of champagne from Minako (she remembers full well his overindulgences in Saint Petersburg last June) and a small platter of canapés that is only for show. He then moves through the crowd, hovering on the periphery of a couple conversations.

Sometimes a couple people will try to include him by asking him questions about Viktor, and it tugs at his heart every time he has to answer in a way that neither confirms nor denies their relationship. He says nice things about Viktor’s dedication to the truth and about the depth of their friendship since then, but all the while he feels Minako’s eyes on the back of his head, and the hum of the Kunaicho’s presence at his elbow at every turn.

Just because they asked for Viktor to stop being covered doesn’t mean they’ve truly accepted him. And just because Minako has referred to Viktor as his boyfriend behind closed doors doesn’t mean she’s about to do it in public. Or let him do it.

“Ugh, these parties,” he hears to his left. He turns, and sees a young man who looks to be around sixteen or seventeen, with soft brown hair framing an earnest-looking face and sparkling brown eyes. “They’re not very fun when you’re younger than most of the people in attendance, are they?”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to have that,” he says, gesturing to the glass of champagne in the boy’s hands.

“Shh,” the boy replies, putting a finger to his lips. He extends a hand. “I’m Guang-Hong Ji. My father’s the new Chinese ambassador.”

Yuuri smiles, takes his hand. “Yuuri,” he says. “Crown Prince of Japan. I think your dad shook my hand earlier.”

Guang-Hong chuckles. “Probably,” he agrees, and then casts around the room, eyes lighting up when he spots someone in the crowd. “Hey, you want to come meet some of the other ambassadorial kids?”

So Yuuri finds himself being introduced to Otabek Altin and Isabella Yang, son of the Kazakh ambassador and daughter of the Canadian consul in Fukuoka, respectively. The two of them had been caught up in an argument about different genres of music, and they had barely paused to give their greetings to Yuuri before being sucked back into the merits of electronic dance music. Yuuri listens along, not quite understanding, but smiling and nodding nonetheless. It’s a nice change of pace from debates over the presence of the American military in Okinawa or the current uptick in Japanese-exported goods in Russia because of Yuuri and Viktor’s relationship, or any of the other conversation threads where he’d be expected to weigh in as impartially as possible.

“You know, I think you should talk to Leo about this stuff,” says Guang-Hong after a moment.

“Leo?” echoes Isabella, raising an eyebrow.

“Leo de la Iglesia,” replies Guang-Hong after a sip of champagne. “We were classmates at Sidwell when my dad was posted to the United States. His mother was just a senator then, though.”

“You know Leo de la Iglesia,” states Otabek, and Guang-Hong laughs.

“He has a lot of opinions about electronic music,” he says, as if that would diminish the gravity of offhandedly dropping a mention of the son of the President of the United States. “He once ranted to me for an hour about auto-tune.”

“I think I like him already,” Isabella declares, and Otabek scrunches his face up like a pinched mouse in response. Yuuri hides a laugh in his champagne, watching as the conversation veers onto other topics.

After a while, however, the reception begins to wind down, and Yuuri makes his excuses to the ambassadorial kids as he begins to be shepherded to the door. Guang-Hong and Isabella promise to stay in touch with him via Phichit’s Instagram, while Otabek says nothing, only nodding his goodbyes as Yuuri is escorted out of the Palace and back to his car.

“You seem to have had more fun at this reception than previous ones, Your Highness,” Minako remarks during the quick drive to Togu Palace. Yuuri shrugs, turning to look out the window at the moonlight filtering through the barely-leafed trees and the soft distant glow of lanterns hanging amid the cherry blossoms. His phone chimes; he looks down to see a couple unread messages about Viktor running late, and sighs with anticipation.

Viktor arrives through the rear again, tumbling out of a nondescript black van and onto the loading dock, brushing off his suit as he does so. “You guys really do know how to give someone the royal treatment,” he rebukes one of the bodyguards, though he’s grinning as he says that. Yuuri can’t help but snicker at that; when Viktor turns to see him, his face lights up like the lanterns in the garden.

“Let’s go eat,” Yuuri offers. “I’m starving.”

Dinner is simple. Yuuri had requested katsudon, but it’s not quite the same as his mother’s. Viktor scarfs it down nonetheless, and then suggests that they take a walk out in the park, because seeing the cherry blossoms at night is also supposed to be a good idea. Yuuri agrees readily; Viktor’s hand is warm in his when they set down the garden path out to the estate park, and a slight night breeze ruffles at his silver hair as it glows slightly beneath the moonlight.

“How was your reception?” Viktor asks. Overhead, the proud cherry branches drop their blossom petals, fragrant and pink. One of them falls into Viktor’s hair; Yuuri reaches out and brushes it away with trembling fingers.

“It was fun,” he says. “But I find that these dancing blossoms are nicer.”

Viktor seems to flush beneath the lantern light, but he says nothing, only moving in closer. “What was it about?”

“Greeting diplomats,” says Yuuri. “I listened in to a debate about electronic music between the son of the Kazakh ambassador and the daughter of a Canadian consul.”

“That sounds exciting,” replies Viktor, as they pull up to a big tree festooned in brightly-coloured lanterns. Yuuri sits down on the roots of this one, pulling Viktor down with him so that he could lay his head in Viktor’s lap again.

“So did you get the apartment?” he asks.

Viktor hums, smiling as he cards his hands through Yuuri’s hair, echoing his ministrations from the afternoon. Yuuri very nearly refrains from purring at the luxurious feeling; perhaps having Viktor drop two hundred million yen on an apartment in Roppongi will be worth it if he can have Viktor’s fingers in his hair as many nights as he wants.

“I can move in at the end of this month, when the sale is finalised,” Viktor says. “I’ll also have to finalise transfer stuff at SVQ and get all of my Japanese papers in order, but I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

Yuuri snorts at that — he’ll always start missing Viktor before his plane even leaves the ground, but his boyfriend probably doesn’t need to hear that. “You’re going to want some lights and basic furniture,” he points out. “I can have some chamberlains move in some of the extra furniture from the palace?”

“I’m shipping over a lot of my stuff,” replies Viktor.

“But probably not your bed and couch and things like that, right?” asks Yuuri.

“Oh no, I’m renting out the Saint Petersburg one as furnished.” Viktor laughs. “I could sleep like a real Japanese person for a while, on the floor on some futon or something.”

“It won’t be so comfortable on a marble floor,” Yuuri points out.

Viktor chuckles. “Point,” he concedes. “We’ll have to go furniture shopping together, then. My agent told me there’s a lot of nice furniture stores in Tokyo that sell things for cheap.”

Yuuri can’t help but grin at that. “That sounds fun,” he says. “I’ve also never been furniture shopping, obviously. Yuuko usually takes care of that for me.”

“You should get out more,” replies Viktor, the lights from the lanterns dancing in his eyes like stars. Unable to resist the urges tugging at him since the start of the evening, Yuuri sits up and tugs Viktor’s face down to meet his.

Viktor still tastes of katsudon; Yuuri sighs a little into the kiss before opening his mouth, letting Viktor’s tongue explore. He shifts so that he’s settling more firmly against Viktor, humming as Viktor breaks the kiss so he can mouth a wet trail down Yuuri’s neck, ending at the collar of his shirt.

“You changed,” Viktor mumbles suddenly. “Your outfit is different.”

“Yeah,” says Yuuri. Viktor makes a contemplative noise, but then shrugs and flicks his tongue against the shell of Yuuri’s ear. Yuuri flinches a little, but Viktor laughs and kisses his nape until Yuuri relaxes in his arms again.

“These blossoms are pretty,” Viktor remarks, though his gaze is nowhere near the lantern-lit pink blooms. Yuuri’s a little breathless as he shifts up to face Viktor; when Viktor puts a hand against his cheek, tracing the curve of his lip with his finger, Yuuri takes that finger into his mouth, tongue laving over it suggestively.

Viktor’s eyes darken at that, sending a thrill down Yuuri’s spine. “Do you have a change of clothes?” he breathes.

“You want me to stay the night?” asks Viktor, his eyes widening. Yuuri takes his hand, presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“If you don’t mind?”

“I’d never mind,” retorts Viktor, exhaling as Yuuri moves his hand to cup his face. “Aren’t you going to be busy in the morning?”

“If you wake up when I do, we can have breakfast,” replies Yuuri, smiling. “And Takeshi can get you back to your hotel.”

Viktor hums. Yuuri rises to his feet, extending his hand. Wordlessly, Viktor accepts it, and Yuuri leads him all the way back to his room.

In the end, exhaustion hits them the moment they see Yuuri’s bed. They only have time to take separate showers and change into nightclothes — Viktor getting an extra large Harvard shirt that had been lying at the bottom of Yuuri’s closet — before Yuuri feels the weariness coursing slowly through his veins, amplified only by the warmth of Viktor’s arms around him.

Here, Viktor smells like his shampoo and body wash; his lips still have hints of Yuuri’s toothpaste as he leans in to kiss him, and Yuuri has never felt safer or more loved. Knowing that within a couple of weeks he could have this as many as times as he wanted, instead of intermittently every couple of months or so, makes his head spin with a ridiculous amount of happiness. Viktor burrows into the crook of his neck, his lips soft against Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri holds onto him tight with no intent of ever letting go.

* * *

**minabelle** reblogged from **aeryi** :

**fyeahviktorandyuuri**

viktor nikiforov takes pictures with fans at haneda international airport on april 29, 2018

————

**yuuriforov4eva**

is that his dog in the pictures oh my god

————

**viki-niki**

yeah that is! his name’s makkachin and he makes lots of insta appearances like here and here

————

**ayaka**

that’s so nice of him, he didn’t have to do that! he’s going to be a great consort some day :)

————

**minabelle**

kermitscream.gif

#whats the truth #are they moving in together or not #ive heard so many conflicting stories i don’t know what to say #im shookt pal!!! #viktuuri

* * *

“Just a little right… no. Too far. Back a little, thank you.”

Due to some last-minute schedule changes, Yuuri had been held up unexpectedly by his duties on the morning Viktor moves into his apartment in Roppongi, and so only a fleet of Imperial guards show up with their van to help him haul the boxes which had been shipped to the apartment’s delivery storage lockers a couple days in advance.

Viktor would like to pretend he isn’t disappointed, though he knows it’s not Yuuri’s fault. Still, the prince more than makes up for it by sending over some of the extra furniture from Togu Palace. For example, while it had not passed the exacting standards of the Imperial Household’s chamberlains, the silvery dining set looks perfectly fine here in a sunlit apartment in Roppongi. The table wobbles a little when Viktor sits on it, though, so he simply makes a mental note not to put anything particularly heavy on it.

Also amid the offerings are: a couch with sleek beige canvas cushions, a chrome-and-glass coffee table, and a boxy wooden bed frame. The bed frame has clearly had a past life as the canvas of some child’s imagination, because there are still remnants of marker stains along the base. Viktor wonders if Yuuri had put them there when he was younger.

But he doesn’t have much time to ruminate on that, not with Makkachin eagerly nosing through the boxes and demanding pets from all of the guards. It takes him a while to dig out the poodle’s lead, but he finally does manage to find it and clip it to Makkachin’s collar. Said poodle whines, as if put off by the concept of leaving his new friends behind, but Viktor’s sure that the flight and the car ride have been taxing for his erstwhile companion.

“Excuse us,” he says to the guards. “I need to take him out.”

Yuuri texts him when he’s just about done with walking Makkachin, having taken him around the block and checked out local shops and cafés. _Will you still be at the apartment in three hours_? the prince asks. _I’m free after six_.

 _Definitely_ , Viktor replies, and then has a sudden idea. _Can the guards go shopping with me_?

Yuuri sends him a laughing emoji. _They can do anything you’d like them to, within reason_ , he replies, and Viktor laughs, too.

So he takes some of the guards with him to get furniture, like light fixtures, appliances, and a mattress for the bed frame. He’d never really anticipated having to shop for his own appliances, for one, but with some input from some of the guards he manages to get a decent refrigerator at the recycle shop around the corner, along with a cute set of cutlery and dishes, and several different pots and pans.

He gets his bed and bath linens new, though, and at the highest quality he can manage. The store he goes to for that, though, has so many other cute things that he has to restrain himself from buying, because there’s probably no space for it just yet. He’ll have plenty of opportunities to go again, and maybe next time Yuuri could come along.

(Just the thought of the Crown Prince standing in the middle of an IKEA or a Nitori makes him laugh quietly to himself all the way back to the apartment.)

A lot of the things he’s brought over from Russia are personal knickknacks, such as his favourite books, his clothes and accessories, and all of Makkachin’s things. The clothes get hung up in the closets, of course, but the lack of shelves beyond the set in the entry corridor means his books are lined up against the wall instead. The guards help him hook up the new refrigerator, before they’re called back to the palace to deal with some function or other. Viktor sees them out with a smile, before closing the door behind them and slumping to the ground with his heart hammering furiously in his chest.

This is it. He’s moving into an apartment in Japan in pursuit of a relationship with the Crown Prince, who is probably going to visit him in a couple hours and find everything completely lacking. Viktor tries to take some deep breaths, but all he can hear is the rushing of traffic several floors below in the streets, loud and oppressive against the frantic rhythm of his heart.

Makkachin comes to him then, bless him, and licks worryingly at his face. Viktor buries his cheek into his dog’s fur, and exhales deeply.

He manages to unpack the rest of the things he’s brought over from Russia: his framed articles and photographs, his childhood stuffed animals, a set of matryoshka dolls, the bust of Alexander Radishchev that had been given to him as a gag going-away gift at SVQ. Folding up the boxes and stashing away the suitcases afterwards is both satisfying and oddly final, and with a sigh he decides to run down to the combini next door to get some snacks.

Yuuri arrives around six, as the shadows of the late afternoon lengthen across the marble floor and douse the apartment in gold. He’s dressed down in a tan jacket and blue scarf as well as a medical mask and his black cat-eared beanie pulled low over his face, and generally looks about as far from a prince as he could be. Viktor still thinks it’s adorable, seeing the image of him on his buzzer shortly before letting him in.

Yuuri is toting a bottle of Brut with some glasses as he steps over the threshold and toes off his shoes, which Viktor notes are trainers rather than fancy Italian loafers. “I can’t believe Minako let you set foot out of the palace dressed like this,” Viktor jokes as he takes the champagne and glasses from him. Yuuri slips off his coat easily, looking about for a place to hang it. Viktor puts it in one of the closets, suddenly grateful that he picked up a shitton of hangers at the hundred-yen store just an hour before.

“How have you been?” Yuuri asks in reply, slipping his arms around Viktor’s waist and drawing him in. “Everything went well with the move-in, right?”

Viktor nods, running his thumb along the curve of Yuuri’s cheekbone. “Like clockwork,” he replies, smiling. “The guards helped me find some stuff I was missing. Not everything, of course — I’d like to go shopping again and get some more stuff with you by my side.”

“And I’ll get to see what the inside of an IKEA looks like,” Yuuri adds cheerily, nuzzling his cheek against Viktor’s hand. Viktor laughs a little at that, feeling his heart flutter in time with the bat of Yuuri’s lashes against his skin.

“I can’t believe that’s the thing you look forward to the most,” Viktor teases. Yuuri pulls back, quirking an eyebrow at him before turning his attention to Makkachin. The old poodle is beside himself with excitement, woofing and licking all over Yuuri’s face as the prince laughs and acquiesces to petting him.

“We could get lost in the store together,” he points out with a grin as he scratches behind Makkachin’s ears. “They’ll have to send the guards in to find us.”

“What a scandal,” agrees Viktor, kneeling down to also bestow some pats to Makkachin’s back. The poodle promptly flops on his back, presenting his belly for the two of them. Yuuri chuckles, leaning over to kiss Viktor’s cheek.

“What’s on the schedule for tonight?” he asks.

Viktor swallows at that. “Did — did you eat dinner?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I’ve been caught up in official functions all afternoon,” he explains. “Barely any time to breathe, let alone eat.”

“We’ll go grab onigiri from the combini and call it a night in,” Viktor suggests. Yuuri laughs at that, his hands briefly brushing against Viktor’s.

(Viktor hopes he’ll never stop feeling as if each touch from Yuuri is the first.)

“I like the sound of that,” the prince declares, and then nods towards the champagne and glasses. “I brought you a housewarming present.”

“No sake distilled from your dad’s rice fields?” jokes Viktor, causing Yuuri to raise an eyebrow at him. Viktor chuckles, shaking his head and fetching his keys. They’ve had relatively little ‘nights in’ together, up until now, but the ones they’ve had have all been sweet and memorable in their own ways. The prospect of more, potentially unlimited nights with Yuuri in this Tokyo apartment makes Viktor’s heart sing.

He extends his hand; Yuuri takes it eagerly. Together they head down to the combini to grab a bite to eat, Yuuri’s head craning every which way in fascination as he looks at the shelves full of snacks and treats. It’s not exactly a feast for an emperor (or an emperor-to-be), but Yuuri has a quiet reverential air about him all the same as he watches Viktor buy their food.

They take the food back up to Viktor’s new flat (it’s _his_ , it really is, he really bought all of it with the rest of his trust fund because what else in the world is worth dropping so much money on?) and set it all out on the slightly rickety dining room table. Viktor improvises a corkscrew with a knife, accidentally almost taking his own eye out in the process. But he manages to get the bottle open and two slim flutes filled with champagne, before they open the boxes of their first dinner together in this apartment.

“Kampai,” Yuuri remarks, his eyes dancing merrily like the bubbles in his flute.

Viktor clinks his glass against Yuuri’s. “Poyekhali,” he says, and feels nothing but warmth.

* * *

“Yuuri, oh god, you — feel incredible — too much —” Viktor gasps, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear as he presses him against the bedroom wall.

Yuuri has to differ. It’s Viktor who feels incredible, who’s too much against Yuuri’s body as he thrusts his cock into the slick gap between Yuuri’s thighs. Even like this Viktor feels so good, so hot and needy and reverent and giving all in one go, and Yuuri’s going to lose his mind the longer Viktor touches him.

(But he would rather lose his mind to Viktor than to never have known his touch, so maybe that’s all right.)

Viktor exhales, mouthing hungrily against Yuuri’s left shoulder as his hand moves down between them to stroke Yuuri’s cock in time with his own thrusts. “So perfect,” he breathes, “so good, just — tighter, press your thighs together —”

He squeezes, and Viktor _whimpers_ , his hands stuttering briefly. Yuuri feels his boyfriend’s lips on his neck for a moment, eliciting shivers through his body which blossom into warmth as Viktor’s hands pick up the pace again.

His knees feel like they’ll give out any moment. Leaning heavily against the wall, Yuuri tries to remember how they got here. He might have sobered up from the champagne, but he’s still drunk on Viktor, drunk on the little crescents of sensation digging into his hips and the slide of Viktor’s cock between his thighs.

Viktor suddenly flicks his wrist, his thumb running along the head of Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri moans, tilting his body forward, his mouth desperately seeking Viktor’s. At some point in the night they’d joked about ‘christening’ the apartment, about marking up every room with memories of their love. And then at some point later they had decided to make that a reality.

They have yet to make it to the bed, Yuuri realises. Viktor had sucked him off on the couch, and now here they are in the bedroom. The apartment is decidedly incomplete, with parts of Viktor’s life in Saint Petersburg still scattered into various nooks and crannies, but at least they have each other, and that’s really what’s important.

Viktor kisses him with the hunger of a starving man, his hands moving across Yuuri’s body and along his cock as if they’re committing it to memory. Yuuri’s just as hungry, just as wanting as he clings onto Viktor’s hair, as he moans his pleasure into the space all around them. He’s incredibly close, especially given the sweet rub of Viktor’s cock against the inside of his thighs, given the caress of Viktor’s thumb against the head of his own cock. And based on Viktor’s growingly-erratic panting, his boyfriend must be close, too.

He’s just seconds away from coming when there’s the sudden sound of barking and scratching, followed by the buzzing of the doorbell.

Viktor freezes almost comically. Yuuri whines a little as Viktor pulls out from between his legs, his expression apologetic as he dons his briefs and a random shirt from the floor. It’s only when he’s halfway to the door that Yuuri realises it’s actually his own, and that it rides up on Viktor’s hips and covers precious little.

“You should put on something else,” Yuuri points out, gesturing to his legs. Viktor throws on a pair of sweats in response, and goes to answer the door.

At first, the voices are muffled, but as Yuuri throws on his briefs and Viktor’s shirt — which is big enough to ghost along his thighs — he can make out two distinct male voices. Viktor’s is quiet relative to the other’s, which is speaking Japanese peppered with halting English.

“The walls are very thin, sir, and I am very tired from my day at the office. I ask you only to be courteous to your neighbours, sir, because some of us do need to sleep at nighttime instead of —”

“He’s asking you to quiet down a little,” Yuuri says as he sidles up behind Viktor, placing an arm around him. Viktor relaxes into the touch, rocking back and forth with Yuuri while the man who had been haranguing Viktor just seconds ago turns several different shades of pale.

“I — Your Highness,” says the man, his eyes wide.

Yuuri says nothing, only tilts his head as he rests his chin on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor, in turn, has a hint of a wicked smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

“A thousand apologies, Your Highness; I had no idea you were here,” splutters the man in English.

“It’s really no trouble,” Viktor points out, despite the neighbour already having turned his attention away from the potential noise complaint. “We’ll be quieter in the future, thank you —”

“No, no, forgive me, forgive me, I disturbed the two of you,” declares the man, bowing his way back down the hallway. “Please, Your Highness, continue where you left off!” he shouts before he reaches his door and darts inside, and it takes all Yuuri has not to break out into laughter at that.

“What was he saying, exactly?” asks Viktor, closing the door. The mood from earlier would take a while to resurface, so Yuuri shrugs.

“He came over trying to complain about the noise,” he says. “I seem to have shocked him into leaving.”

Viktor laughs at that, cupping Yuuri’s cheeks to kiss his lips and nose. “I don’t think that was all shock,” he says. “There’s some intimidation in it, too.”

“Intimidation,” repeats Yuuri incredulously, frowning at the amusement dancing in Viktor’s eyes. “ _You_ think I’m intimidating?”

Viktor’s response to that is to sweep him up into a bridal carry, grinning widely from ear to ear. “I think you can be, when you want,” Viktor muses. “It’s sexy, when you do,” he adds in a lower voice, winking to emphasise his point.

Suddenly every single blood cell in Yuuri’s brain wants to go south. He throws his arms around Viktor’s neck with a soft sigh, burying his nose at the spot where Viktor’s pulse pounds against his skin.

“Take me to bed, Viktor Nikiforov,” he declares. Viktor hums, pressing in for a kiss. Yuuri gives it, his hands tangling back into Viktor’s hair.

“Is that an order, _Your Highness_?” Viktor jokes when he pulls back, but Yuuri tugs his hair a little, eliciting a soft whimper.

“Just do it.” Yuuri feels his cheeks heating up the longer Viktor’s gaze bores into his. Viktor doesn’t need telling twice; he covers the distance from the front door to the bedroom in record time, setting Yuuri onto the bed and ghosting his fingers down his thighs, teasing along the hem of the shirt riding up along his hips. Yuuri shivers; the shirt obscures precious little of the slick spot where Viktor’s cock had been minutes before their interruption.

“You really do wear my clothes a lot,” Viktor remarks. Yuuri rakes his gaze down Viktor’s forearms, admiring the way his own shirt stretches across Viktor’s much broader chest. He grins, tugging Viktor down for a kiss as his legs spread to straddle Viktor’s hips.

“Do you like it?” he asks. Viktor shoots him a baffled look, as if he can’t quite understand why Yuuri is asking such a blatantly rhetorical question.

“Maybe I should show you how much I like it,” he suggests, and Yuuri gladly lets him, again and again and again.

The next morning, there’s a brief ring of the buzzer as they sit at the dining room table eating breakfast, which amounts to leftovers from last night as well as some eggs and tea. Neither of them are _really_ sitting, though, and Yuuri suspects they won’t be for quite some time. So when the buzzer rings, there’s a small scramble for the door. Yuuri manages to open it, only to see a gift basket full of freshly-made pastries, onigiri, and jam. Attached to the handle is a big red ribbon with a card saying ‘Sorry! Welcome to Tokyo!’

Viktor laughs at the basket’s contents as Yuuri picks it up, bringing it to their dining room table. At the foot of the table, Makkachin perks up at the sight of a rawhide bone.

“Amazing what intimidation will get you,” Viktor muses, tapping his lips. He samples a swipe of the jam, his eyes lighting up. “This is amazing.”

Yuuri reaches over, plucks the jar from him, and smears it across his own lips. Viktor’s eyes darken at that; he leans in quickly to taste them, pressing Yuuri against the edge of the table with eager ardour.

After a moment, Yuuri breaks away to catch his breath. The room seems a little brighter, and Viktor’s face is flushed a brilliant pink as he pants. Smirking, Yuuri cups Viktor’s face, his heart beating more freely than it has in ages.

“We still haven’t done it against the window,” he points out.

“You’re insatiable,” Viktor chides, but his eyes are dancing in mirth, and his heart-shaped grin is soft in the morning light.

* * *

**01 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:15**  
Snuck some pictures at a club ★⌒(●ゝω・)ｂ

 **02 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:18  
** is that the crown prince? (´ ˙○˙ `)

 **03 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:27**  
OP going to die by the Kunaicho wwwww

 **04 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:39**  
which club is this? Σ(゜ロ゜;)

 **05 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:41**  
OP here it’s a new club in Roppongi called Rhaspodie!

 **06 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:42**  
katsuki looks like he’s having a lot of fun! drink lots but be safe, yuuri! (￣▽￣)ゞ

 **07 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:42**  
PRINCE KATSUKI PLEASE IF A MAN WITH A LOT OF TATTOOS TRIES TO BUY YOU A DRINK, DON’T DO IT YOU’RE GOING TO GET KIDNAPPED BY THE YAKUZA IF YOU DO ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ

 **08 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:43**  
he’s with viktor he’ll be fine

 **09 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:45**  
roppongi doesn’t have as big of a tie to the yakuza as it used to anyway

 **10 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:47**  
that’s what they want you to think

 **11 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:50**  
All these foreigners make me sick. Seeing the Crown Prince degrade Himself like that fraternizing with a Russian gossipmonger is the basest thing the Imperial Household has ever permitted. We are losing faith in the purity of our leaders and the sanctity of the throne!

 **12 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:52**  
^ wwww people still talk like that?

 **13 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:56**  
hey bro maybe you should eat more fiber, you’re spewing shit everywhere

 **14 Anon: 2018/05/02 (** **土** **) 23:58**  
Cheer up anon! I’m sure when HIH comes to his senses he’ll see Nikiforov for the scoop-hungry parasite he really is and leave him.

 **15 Anon: 2018/05/03 (** **日** **) 00:01**  
why is 2ch so determined to think these two aren’t in love

 **16 Anon: 2018/05/03 (** **日** **) 00:03**  
Bet the first one sent the second one too to make himself feel better. Troll.

 **17 Anon: 2018/05/03 (** **日** **) 00:04**  
aw, prince katsuki looks so cute riding on viktor’s back like that!! #couplegoals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honmei choco & White Day: On Valentine's Day in Japan, people give out giri-choco (obligatory chocolate) and honmei choco (chocolate with romantic intent) to others (usually women to men, but we're being egalitarian here). Then those recipients return the favour on White Day on March 14. For this fic, though, I'm thinking more specifically about the [Royce](https://twitter.com/_kay_0_0/status/829164191047114752) [Ads](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a3c137b5c1c80994201355b6782d10e6/tumblr_ommazeBPYf1rvbl4vo3_1280.png) that were done this year with references to Viktor and Yuuri! 
> 
> HANAMI!!! The Japanese national pasttime! Historically hanami began as an Imperial Family tradition all the way back in the Nara period (710-794) but by the Heian period it was more or less codified by the royals and the nobility as a time to examine the ephemerality of cherry blossoms with good food and drink. Then the samurai decided they wanted in, and eventually it spread all the way down to the people. Yoyogi and Ueno Park are extremely popular hanami spots, which means getting a good seat there requires waking at the crack of dawn lol. The place where Viktor and Yuuri eventually go to is in Kawasaki and it's a cute little creek lined with cherry blossoms! It's busy on weekends (but not as busy as Tokyo) but during the weekday it's perfectly quiet. Thank you Lucy for letting me know about it!
> 
> Apartment shopping: Oh god this was nerve-wracking haha. So in Japan you need a real estate agent to get an apartment, especially if you're a foreigner. Then you need a guarantor who vouches for your character and offers to pay the rent if you're not up to date on it yourself (at one point I wanted a joke that Yuuri would be the best damn guarantor because no one would turn down someone the Crown Prince vouches for lol). Then there's like, key fees and other things. And even then the apartment comes almost completely bare so you have to get your own appliances as _well_ as furniture! The apartment Viktor buys for that whopping amount of money is in fact across from the National Gallery and about a 12 minute walk from Togu Palace, so it's perfect for them! 
> 
> Leo's mother: Is in fact, President of the United States in my AU. Because the current one doesn't exist. Leo and Guang-Hong were classmates at Sidwell Friends, a prestigious private school that has educated a lot of children of politicians and government officials. In fact, Princess Chichibu (aunt of the current Emperor) was a Sidwell alum. 
> 
> Apology basket: Thank you to Lucy for suggesting this bit! Chances are, their apartment walls are pretty thick... they're just also really loud. ;)
> 
> Roppongi & Yakuza: Apparently Roppongi's nightclubs have had some ties to organised crime, though that's not always the case, and that part of town has gotten a lot safer since then. There have been some spates of drugged drinks in the past couple years, though.


	6. we’ll hold hands (how much i love you)

For the residents of Roppongi, sightings of the Crown Prince swiftly become a regular occurrence in the area. After the first couple surprise appearances at bars, clubs, and restaurants (not to mention the fish counter at supermarkets and ramen bars), the denizens of the surrounding areas quickly realise several things about these encounters:

First, there’s always security a couple paces behind. Once, someone had tried to bother the prince into coming into his store, and had almost gotten beat up by the plainclothes Imperial Guard officers assigned to his security detail immediately after. Yuuri hasn’t been harassed since.

Second, don’t address him by his titles. Not even ‘Prince’. Out here beyond the walls of Togu Palace, the Crown Prince just wants to be Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki, if necessary.

Third, Yuuri Katsuki may be clueless about a great deal of commoner things, but his boyfriend surprisingly isn’t. Viktor Nikiforov may dress nicer than him, may pull off the cool aristocratic foreigner look as easily as breathing, but he is much less susceptible to the wiles of salesmen and unscrupulous store owners, and will call it out with a polite smile on his face. Especially if it happens to Yuuri.

Still, the two of them quickly become a fixture in the area, and life carries on. May is warm, almost _too_ warm, and starting to gain a buzz of humidity that heralds the approaching summer. Yuuri falls quickly into a pattern of conducting his (numerous, seemingly never-ending) duties all week and then escaping to Viktor’s flat for a night, before showing up again at some official function in the morning fresh-eyed and glowing. Most people have stopped batting an eye at that.

Prime Minister Matsudaira and Grand Steward Hiramatsu, however, aren’t most people.

“Your Highness was spotted this morning at a combini, of all places,” remarks Hiramatsu as Yuuri clutches a cup of sencha while sitting in one of the seemingly-endless waiting rooms in the Imperial Palace. His parents had asked him over for brunch, though it seems that their meeting with the Prime Minister is running late.

“I was hungry and I wanted onigiri,” says Yuuri. “Takeshi was there, too; I was fine.”

“You could have onigiri here,” Hiramatsu points out, “in any flavour combination you wanted.”

“Not with Viktor, though,” Yuuri points out.

Hiramatsu’s expression hardens. “Ah, yes, Mr Nikiforov.” He spits out Viktor’s name as if he’s coughing up a particularly nauseating piece of phlegm. “How long has it been since your affair began?”

Yuuri purses his lips, considering it for a moment. “Almost a year?” he says. “At least, it’s been almost a year since our first meeting.”

“And how much longer do you intend to continue such foolishness?”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh at that. “As long as he’s amenable,” he replies sweetly, before sipping his tea pointedly at the Grand Steward. “Are we done?”

Hiramatsu’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing further before he bows and makes his way out of the room. Moments later the door leading into the waiting room opens, and Prime Minister Matsudaira enters, bowing stiffly at Yuuri in greeting.

“Still have that Russian lapdog, Your Highness?” he asks snidely. Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I happen to like mine very much,” he says instead. “I’m sorry to hear yours likes to snap at you.”

Matsudaira, too, seems to harden, his eyes taking on a flinty quality as he bows again. “President Baranovskaya and I do not share quite the same quality of relationship with one another as you and your reporter do,” he says, every word as dry and brittle as a stale cracker. “I hope the rest of your day is pleasant, Your Highness.”

“And yours, too, Mr Prime Minister,” replies Yuuri coolly, sweeping past him into the dining room where his parents are still slowly making their way through breakfast.

“Yuuri,” Empress Hiroko says with a smile. Yuuri bows to her and his father, mostly out of habit, before pulling up a chair with them. A chamberlain brings out a bowl of miso soup for him, but he doesn’t touch it, only spoons idly at the broth before looking between the two of them.

“How are you faring, mother?” he asks. Hiroko smiles at him from over her bite of natto, shrugging her soft robe-clad shoulders. She hasn’t quite gotten into her outfit for the day just yet, but within the hour she will be swaddled into a pastel kimono or suit and then bundled off to her first appearance of the day as Empress. Next to her, Emperor Toshiya is already arrayed in his suit, studiously poring over his itinerary and collection of speeches with his morning tea.

“I find myself looking forward to the last appearance of the day already,” Hiroko says. “A performance by Itzhak Perlman at Suntory Hall this evening — I believe you, too, have an invitation?”

“I might go with Viktor,” Yuuri admits. “He has tickets to see Perlman, too, but if I go in an official capacity we can’t be seen together.”

“The view will be better from our seats,” Toshiya points out without even looking up from his speech notes. “Plus, we’re meeting Mr Perlman afterwards.”

“You’ll probably be seeing Viktor later anyway,” adds Hiroko. “A couple hours at a concert will be nothing compared to a night.” She hides a smile behind her hand, but given the way Toshiya’s eyes soften when she mentions that, Yuuri suspects the two of them are reminiscing in their heads about their own nights together.

Embarrassment creeps along his collar, threatens to seep into his face. “I’ll think about it,” he hedges, stirring at his soup. “I, er, actually came to discuss the Imperial Villa.”

“We intend to return to Tokyo before your own visit,” replies Toshiya immediately. “You won’t run into us at all, unless you wish to?”

“Um.” Yuuri sips his soup to buy himself a little more time. “Whatever Your Majesties desire,” he replies. “I was wondering more if Viktor could come with me.”

“You want to invite Viktor?” asks Hiroko, her eyes sparkling. Yuuri feels something warm bloom in his chest at the excitement in his mother’s voice; he nods, and she positively _beams_. “I think that’d be a lovely idea. He probably hasn’t seen much of Japan just yet!”

“He’s been out to the suburbs of Tokyo,” Yuuri points out, though admittedly his mother has a point. Viktor has been busy with his work, often pulling in some extra hours along with his Japanese coworkers at the office. His articles have all been exciting to read, but there’s been an air of exhaustion about the man himself lately, as if he’s on the verge of collapsing and sleeping for an entire week.

Spending some time at the Imperial Villa could be just the thing he needs. Yuuri looks over at his father; Toshiya looks up from his itinerary and nods in agreement with his wife.

“Perhaps if he shows up to Hasetsu with you, it will encourage more tourism to the area,” he suggests, and the heat surges into Yuuri’s cheeks at that.

“Father!” he rebukes. “Viktor isn’t a tourism ad!”

“You can’t deny that Saga Prefecture could use some more visitors,” Toshiya replies innocently, completely oblivious to his son’s mortification. “The excitement of his relationship with you may renew interest in the area.”

Yuuri determinedly hides his face behind his bowl of soup. “Not everything has to be a gambit for tourism, father,” he points out.

“I think the Ice Castle will especially love the idea of you two going over to use the rink,” muses the Emperor in response, causing Yuuri to send a despairing look at his mother. Hiroko, however, only chuckles as she rises from the dining table, clearly intending to return to her rooms to be dressed for the day.

“Take Viktor to Hasetsu,” she tosses over her shoulder. “I’m sure his dog will love the beach.”

* * *

_Excerpt from_ A Summer in Yu-Topia: The Story of How Hiroko Nishikawa Became the Empress _:_

In the summer of 1986, Hiroko Nishikawa stepped off the train back home to find that everything had changed. The roads of the sleepy spa town had been paved over; new trees had been planted along the avenues and in little grassy parks that had once been dirt lots. Even the area outside Hasetsu Castle had been transformed into a garden of cherry saplings — and all because the Kunaicho was looking to acquire an Imperial Villa in southern Japan.

Hasetsu had not even been one of the forerunners in the choice of a new Imperial Villa location. Just an hour out of Fukuoka, with only the sea and the springs as its drawing points, Hasetsu’s quiet and bucolic surroundings had been deemed by the Kunaicho to be too rough and underdeveloped for the delicate sensibilities of the Imperial Family. But for the twenty-four year old Crown Prince, who had been raised with a healthy appetite for adventure and a curiosity for the way his future subjects lived, the forgotten jewel that was Hasetsu appealed to him very much.

Especially when eighteen-year-old Waseda University student Hiroko Nishikawa stepped back into her family’s ryokan to help out during the summer vacation, and collided with the Crown Prince as he was returning from the onsen to his room.

Nishikawa’s older sister, Haruko, later recounted this fateful first encounter in a letter to a friend in 1987, a month before the wedding:

> _It was as if a thunderbolt had struck His Imperial Highness. He looked at Hiro-chan, who had peeled herself off with apologies and bows, and said with that good-humoured smile of his that it was really quite all right, he shouldn’t have put himself in her way. And Hiro-chan only blushed harder at that, apologising for her clumsiness before running off. I’m afraid His Imperial Highness took it as an excuse to follow her around the inn trying to ‘make amends’ for his own apparent clumsiness by helping her with her duties, which my sister accepted with flustered grace._

The Kunaicho would later buy the Nishikawa family onsen from Haruko in 1991, two years before the birth of Prince Katsuki. The decision to refurbish the existing ryokan building into the Imperial Villa was deemed as cost-effective compared to building a new villa, and it would have the added bonus of preserving in the annals of Imperial Family lore the first meeting of Emperor Toshiya with his future wife.

* * *

It takes Viktor quite a while to adjust to working in Japan, though he’s still not sure if he’s adjusted completely at all.

 _Stammi Vicino Quarterly_ ’s Tokyo branch is not wildly different from the one in Saint Petersburg, though the most noticeable difference is the absence of Yakov, Yuri, and Christophe. Things are done to a slightly different aesthetic; the writing is a little more formal, and Viktor suspects that if he’d asked his new editor-in-chief how much she’d pay for an exclusive interview with the Crown Prince of Japan, she’d have told him that no one in Japan would ever dare to publish something so casual for fear of retribution.

That didn’t stop _You Only Live Once_ magazine from publishing the joint interview with him and Yuuri back in February, though they had done so from their New York press instead of the Tokyo one. There’d been some handwringing from the rest of the Japanese press, but none of them passed up the opportunity to talk about how happy the Crown Prince had looked in the photos taken for the interview.

Still, the biggest adjustment he’s had to make is to the culture of staying as late as the boss, which sometimes equates to arriving home just to collapse on the bed until Makkachin paws him awake again for their delayed walk. Yuuri had offered to send someone from the Kunaicho over to walk Makkachin for him, but Viktor only takes him up on that sparingly. It just doesn’t feel right to make someone else do something he does genuinely enjoy.

Today, though, he has to leave the office at the actual closing time. He has a set of tickets to a performance by Itzhak Perlman at Suntory Hall in the evening, and there’s the chance Yuuri might need the second one if he decides to make an unofficial appearance. Intellectually, he knows it’s not likely — Yuuri’s probably going to accept the official invitation and attend in his capacity as the Crown Prince. But still, it’s nice to pretend.

Sure enough, he only makes it halfway through the day when Yuuri texts him. _I’m sorry, but I’ll be going to the performance tonight with my parents_ , he says, along with some sobbing emoji. Viktor sighs at it, and decides to give his extra ticket to the receptionist, who always smiles and greets him in the mornings.

The day passes quickly from thereon. He schedules a couple interviews for his article about two J-Drama actresses’ high-profile custody battle, makes some edits to a draft about a pop idol’s impending retirement and marriage, responds to posts on SVQ’s Twitter account. He Instagrams his lunch, likes several of Phichit’s posts, and stares wistfully at royal watcher blog posts about Yuuri as he shakes some kid’s hand for winning a national science competition. The boy’s eyes are wide, slightly adoring. Viktor smiles, because he understands perfectly.

One of the actresses, Sayako Watanabe, agrees to an interview that afternoon. Viktor meets her in a café in Shibuya, taking a picture of the little kitten crafted out of his latté foam. She flicks through her phone, showing off emails from the lawyers as well as photos of the child and puppy in question.

“I know Harumi and I are experiencing difficulties in our relationship right now, but I will always look on Yume and Hachi with fondness,” she says, sighing softly as she thumbs through each picture. “They are a happiness in my life that I cannot part with, even though the one who gave them to me wishes to leave.”

Viktor smiles, sips at his own coffee. Sayako’s nails are immaculately manicured; her expression is a series of flawless masks. Nevertheless there’s something sparkling in her eyes that seems more genuine than the brightness of her press smile, which she trains at full wattage on him. He’s gotten particularly good at spotting those.

“How would you describe her treatment of you?” asks Viktor, arching an eyebrow.

Sayako’s expression grows pensive. “Harumi is the moon,” she says solemnly. “Beautiful and distant, serene yet ever-changing. Yet she is also the sun, warm and bright, headstrong and bold. We do not see each other anymore, but I will always look for her smile when she is not there.”

“And how will this bode for your roles on _Wisteria Blossoms_?”

Sayako sighs. “One of us will leave at the end of the season,” she says. “The writers will not say a thing, so we don’t know who it will be, but I would rather Harumi stay on. She brightens everything when she is there; the show won’t be the same without her.”

“The same could be said for your character,” Viktor points out.

She chuckles in response, sipping at her latté with a rueful smile. “You’re fortunate, Mr Nikiforov. The Crown Prince has never broken so many rules so regularly for anyone else before.”

“The only rules he’s breaking are the ones that don’t let him live the life he should be allowed to live,” replies Viktor. “I can only give him that much.”

“Harumi and I thought what we shared would be strong enough.” Sayako dives behind her curtain of long black hair, her shoulders shaking. If her napkin looks a little smudged with mascara when she looks up, Viktor makes no comment. “Hold on to yours, Mr Nikiforov, if you think it good enough for the rest of your life. Harumi decided to let us go, taking our home along with her. I wish I had it in me to fight for us instead of just for Yume and Hachi.”

Her words still haunt him on his way to Suntory Hall after signing off work. The days are lengthening noticeably; at six the sky is still bright with afternoon colours. The concert hall in question is an imposing marble slab, pitted amid sun-soaked skyscrapers all around, and the fountain plays merrily as Viktor takes the steps down to the glass doors with his ticket in hand.

His seat is on the ground floor at a reasonable distance from the stage. No one bats an eye at him as he takes his seat; the receptionist even thanks him for the ticket once more when she arrives in her nicest suit.

There’s a couple clicks of camera shutters. Viktor looks up, just in time to see people rising at the arrival of the Emperor and Empress. Yuuri’s parents are guided to their seats at the very end of a balcony; Yuuri himself comes in shortly behind and is seated just behind his parents.

Viktor’s breath hitches in his throat. Even at this distance Yuuri looks exquisite in his suit, smiling serenely for the cameras as he trains his eyes on the stage. He, too, is both the moon and the sun, calm and yet bright, distant and yet warm. Viktor burns to touch him, remaining frozen only in his respect for Yuuri’s duties.

Still, the heart wants what it wants, and Viktor’s has always been reaching for stars he can only dream of reaching. The ways in which Yuuri is his are ever-changing from day to day, as unpredictable as the tides, as surprising as the sea. But Viktor wouldn’t have it any other way.

The concert begins, and Viktor very nearly doesn’t hear any of it. The music is beautiful, but now that he knows where Yuuri is sitting, his heart can hardly concentrate on the performance. His eyes keep darting up the balcony where Yuuri is seated with his family, though there’s very little to see once the house lights dim.

At intermission, though, he gets a text: _Meet me at the fountain after the concert_. He smiles, looking up at the balcony as the people around him continue to disperse to find refreshments and bathrooms. Yuuri is still sitting in his seat, a small smile on his face as he looks down at his mobile. Viktor stands, and Yuuri’s eyes flicker up to meet his gaze.

For a heart-stopping moment that’s all there is. Just them looking at one another across the space of a concert hall, but there’s so much promise in Yuuri’s eyes, and so much longing in Viktor’s heart in response. Viktor can’t help the grin that sneaks onto his face; Yuuri offers him one of his soft, secret smiles in return.

The rest of the concert is absolute torture. Despite the exquisite violin concertos and the expressiveness on Mr Perlman’s face as he plays piece after piece to warm applause, Viktor wants nothing more than to reduce the distance between him and Yuuri, to be up on that balcony right now with the Crown Prince’s hand sure in his.

But he’s supposed to meet Yuuri at the fountain after the concert, so he holds in his heart and clenches his hands, and remains in his seat until the very end.

The Emperor leads the hall in a standing ovation after the performance. Viktor claps along with everyone, cheering as the violinist comes back for multiple curtain calls along with the conductor of the small orchestra accompanying him. Flowers are brought out and presented, little thank-you speeches are made, and then people begin to filter out of the hall. It takes all of Viktor’s self-control not to race to the fountain in wait for his beloved, but he gets there eventually, and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

All of the concertogers filter past him, talking animatedly in Japanese. Even the stragglers leave, having stayed behind to present tokens of gratitude to the performers. Then the orchestra leaves, too, and still no sign of Yuuri. Viktor’s stomach churns, his heart flips unpleasantly in his chest. Taking out his mobile, he checks to make sure Yuuri had indeed specified the fountain he’s standing at.

Sleek cars of all sorts are leaving the parking lot. Viktor blows into his hands, looking up at the indigo night sky lit only by bright skyscraper lights. Around now Saint Petersburg’s days would be getting longer, especially as they begin approaching the White Nights and the revelries that follow. But thoughts of the White Nights now invariably lead to thoughts of Yuuri, and thoughts of Yuuri lead to —

“Viktor.”

Viktor turns, and the lowkey worry of the past half an hour immediately vanishes at the sight of the Crown Prince. Yuuri’s clad in a light pea coat over his suit, sleek kid gloves over his slender fingers. His eyes sparkle in the light from the fountain, and Viktor finds himself sinking into a bow before he even realises what he’s doing.

“Please don’t,” Yuuri chides, reaching for his hand. Viktor offers it readily, letting Yuuri entwine their fingers. “Let’s take the bus to yours, okay?”

“What about your guards?” Viktor asks.

“They’ll be around,” replies Yuuri with a noncommittal shrug, tucking himself firmly against Viktor before steering him in the direction of the bus stop.

They’ve taken the metro together before, though the occurrences are surprisingly rare considering the ubiquitous presence and legendary punctuality of public transit in this country. Yuuri leans his head against the windowpane of the bus, looking out at the passing buildings and streetlights. Viktor, on the other hand, is content to watch Yuuri instead.

The city is still alive despite the late hour, so they grab a quick bite to eat from a late-night bakery, splitting the little cup of chocolate mousse between the two of them. Yuuri smears a dab of cream on Viktor’s nose before kissing it off, his cheeks as bright as the strawberries in the bakery display, and Viktor’s heart thrills with just how _right_ all of this feels. How easy it is to just exist with Yuuri, oblivious to the world outside of one another.

This time last year, he could never have imagined such a thing to be possible. But this time last year had been but a week or two before Yuuri first entered his life.

“My parents are taking a brief trip to the Imperial Villa in Hasetsu,” Yuuri says as they walk down the street to the apartment building afterwards. At this point no one in the neighbourhood bats an eye at the sight of the Crown Prince in their midst, and Viktor loves just how easily both of them have merged into the public consciousness. “I’m also going to go, but a couple days later.”

“Should I miss you sorely for those nights?” Viktor asks, tangling their fingers together. Yuuri pauses mid-step, and Viktor freezes to look down at Yuuri’s incredulous little smile. “What?”

“I thought you’d want to go with me,” Yuuri points out. Viktor pauses, and Yuuri’s smile wavers.

“Are you sure?” Viktor breathes. “I didn’t know —”

“Do you want to go with me?” Yuuri emphasises, his brow quirking. Viktor nods almost immediately.

“I would like nothing more,” he declares, pulling Yuuri in closer by the waist. Yuuri flushes, suddenly coy under the bright streetlights, and Viktor briefly takes in the passersby before he steps back, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s hand. “When do you plan to…?”

“Around our anniversary,” admits Yuuri. Up ahead, their apartment building comes into view. “I thought it’d be a good way to commemorate it, you know. Just the surf, the sand, and us.”

“Sounds fantastic,” says Viktor. They breeze through the reception, grinning in the elevator as it takes them up to Viktor’s floor. As they emerge from the lift, his neighbour darts into his apartment with a nervous click of the door. Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

“Does he still…?” he wonders, gesturing to the door. Viktor laughs, as he unlocks his own.

“Yeah, sometimes he still leaves me apology presents.” He pauses, just before opening the door. “What about Makkachin? Can he come with us?”

The door opens, and Viktor is immediately barreled over by a needy old poodle.

“Yeah, and Makkachin.” Yuuri chuckles, stepping over the threshold and prying the dog off of him. He then helps Viktor to his feet, dusting off his shoulders. “You’ll come, right? I don’t want to cancel —”

Viktor kisses him instead. It stops the prince from derailing himself into worried babbling, and it fulfills something he’s wanted to do all night. Yuuri sighs into the kiss, his arms sliding around Viktor’s neck and his foot popping up like a romantic comedy heroine, and Viktor’s own heart flutters just as wildly at the thought.

“Yes,” he murmurs against Yuuri’s lips just as soon as they break apart. “I’d love to come with you.”

“Perfect,” declares Yuuri, before pulling back to toe the apartment door closed. He leaps up, and Viktor staggers unexpectedly as he finds himself caught with an armful of Crown Prince. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Viktor carries him over to the couch, Makkachin eagerly scampering along beside them. Setting his prince down on the cushions, Viktor leans down to kiss him again before asking, “How about a film?”

He’s rewarded with Yuuri’s incredulous stare. “Please, not _A Royal Scoop_ again,” Yuuri begs. “If I have to look at the incompetent circus that is Prince Richard’s support staff for another minute, I’ll send Minako after Netflix.”

“Not every fictional monarchy can be backed by an agency as stringent as the Kunaicho,” Viktor declares, even as he turns on the television and settles on the couch in Yuuri’s arms. “Besides, didn’t you _like_ Prince Richard?”

“Not his face,” admits Yuuri, though he sighs as the opening music begins to play and settles more solidly against Viktor. “I don’t know how I ended up with a best friend _and_ a boyfriend who like Netflix rom-coms about romancing monarchs.”

“I don’t know how Phichit’s became a cult classic,” Viktor retorts. “The plot of _The King and the Skater_ doesn’t even know what genre it wants to be. At least _A Royal Scoop_ —”

Yuuri rolls his eyes. “They’re _both_ bad, dear,” he insists. “And you’re not slick, I know you like this mostly because Andrew’s a reporter.”

Viktor laughs. “You got me,” he says, raising his hands. “Though, you have to admit, the Christmas proposal was so heartwarming. And Chadwick Boseman looks _so_ good —”

Yuuri gives him a look that clearly says that he knows perfectly well why Viktor has memorised that scene (along with many other scenes) of the film. Viktor has the decency to feel a little ashamed about it, but it quickly melts away as he pulls Yuuri down on top of him.

“Netflix and chill, then?” he suggests.

Yuuri snorts, but he’s already moving to straddle Viktor’s hips. “I like that much better,” he declares, capturing Viktor’s lips with a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

This is always his favourite part of Yuuri’s visits, though admittedly every part of Yuuri’s visit is a good part in and of itself. The film plays on cheerily in the background as he helps Yuuri out of his suit, tugging off the tie with a more than just a little prejudice. Yuuri chuckles against his lips, his fingers playing with the buttons of Viktor’s shirt.

Unfortunately, the prince yawns widely before they get very far out of their clothes, so Viktor turns off the television and carries his love to the bed. Yuuri must have had a tiring day, full of public appearances and speeches, and Viktor also feels that same familiar exhaustion seep into him as Yuuri triumphantly nuzzles against him shortly before he’s deposited on the bed.

“Was this part of your ploy to get me to turn off the TV?” Viktor jokes. Yuuri looks up at him, his face the picture of innocence, though the effect is ruined somewhat with another yawn.

“I hate that I can’t stay awake with you forever,” he mutters.

Viktor laughs at that, leaning his forehead down to brush against Yuuri’s. “I don’t know about that; I also like _actually_ sleeping with you.”

Yuuri grins, though his eyelids are drooping in sleepiness already, so Viktor just chuckles and leans him against the pillows to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

It takes him a considerable amount of effort to undress and redress the two of them into t-shirts for the night. It takes him much less to tuck the blankets around them. Yuuri turns towards Viktor immediately after, shifting closer to Viktor’s warmth despite it being summer. He nuzzles his head against the crook of Viktor’s neck, and Viktor’s heart sings like the violin in the vast vaults of Suntory Hall as Yuuri lips ghost across his collar with a sigh.

“You’re gonna love Hasetsu,” Yuuri mumbles into his skin, already half-asleep. “Sea, sand, the onsen… Ice Castle…”

Viktor chuckles. “Tell me more about it in the morning, solnyshko,” he whispers, before blanketing his arms around Yuuri to pull him closer as he, too, drifts off to sleep.

* * *

**FRIDAY** |  News | Celebrities | Sex

**Viktor Nikiforov Arrested At Tokyo Station**

9 JUNE 2018 — Viktor Nikiforov, more commonly known as Crown Prince Yuuri’s boyfriend, was seen being escorted by armed guards at Tokyo Station earlier this morning. He was brought into a private holding room and detained for several hours, during which his boyfriend showed up and helped him get out and onto a shinkansen. The Imperial Household Agency was unfortunately unavailable for comment, as are the editorial board of Nikiforov’s publication, _Stammi Vicino Quarterly_.

—————

98 Comments

 **meriadoc** Leave it to Friday to be so wildly inaccurate! Those guards were part of the security detail assigned to him for their trip to the Imperial Villa in Hasetsu.

 **tjbaker28** Since when does HIH take the shinkansen to Hasetsu?

 **meriadoc** @tjbaker28 He’s always taken the shinkansen to Hasetsu. The Imperial Family takes up an entire car whenever they travel by train.

 **escape_pod** Still a more plausible explanation than ‘he was arrested’ lmao Friday continues to be a disgrace to journalism everywhere

 **geuggysong91** theyre a tabloid what did u expect

_freecanadianpharmacy’s comment has been flagged as spam._

**marieluvsten** I don’t even think Phichit has been there before! Wow!

* * *

For as long as Yuuri can remember, he has spent a portion of his summer at the Imperial Villa in Hasetsu.

The Kunaicho maintains several Imperial Villas in Suzaki, Hayama, and Nasu, alongside historical ones in Kyoto with magnificent gardens and colourful histories, but Yuuri has always had a soft side for the one in Hasetsu because of how personal it is to his parents. It was once his mother’s childhood home, and though the remodelling has excised most of the building’s past, hints of it still remain in the Nishikawa family photos hanging on the walls.

Their car pulls up to the entrance to the villa, and Yuuri piles out of it like he’s a seven-year-old again, ready to spend his summer cloistered within the depths of the old ryokan. He can’t be gone for that long anymore — they only have a fortnight — but the excitement hangs in the air all the same as he turns back and extends a hand to Viktor, who clambers out after him, adjusting his sunglasses.

The mid-morning sun strikes the elegant lines of the villa, glints off the emerald leaves swaying on the trees and casts dappled shadows on the ground. Makkachin and Vicchan bound out of the car, intent on pursuing a butterfly that flutters past for the nearby gardens. The merry hum of cicadas fill the humid summer air, and Viktor’s smile is the brightest thing of all.

Together, they step into the cool, dark entryway of the villa, taking off their shoes at the door. Several of the panelled doors are slid open, letting in the sunlight throughout the house. In the back, Yuuri can hear the fountain in the onsen playing.

“Do you want to go for a soak?” he asks Viktor, nodding towards the back, and Viktor’s eyes light up at the prospect. The chamberlains bring in their luggage, so Yuuri only has to take Viktor’s hand and pull him down the hall.

“Have you ever taken Phichit here?” Viktor asks, as Yuuri leads him to the wing where the bedrooms are. His parents have only recently left for Tokyo, it seems — the chamberlains are still tidying portions of the villa as they pass by.

“Not yet,” Yuuri admits. “You’re the first person I care about who isn’t family to have been here.”

Viktor’s eyes sparkle at that; without warning, Yuuri finds himself being twirled in the middle of the hallway by his excited boyfriend. They narrowly avoid knocking over a vase as they do, and Yuuri is a bit breathless when he’s finally set back down.

“Show me your room,” Viktor enthuses, and Yuuri laughs as they reach the room at the end of the wing, the one he’d always take when he visits this villa.

“It’s not much,” he warns, but Viktor claps his hands nonetheless as Yuuri opens the door.

The room is in shades of white and blue, and the windows are open to let in the light and the scarce summer breeze. Viktor’s eyes widen as he takes it all in; he twirls around and chuckles at the smallness of the bed, flopping back onto it with a loud laugh. Moments later there’s a bark and Vicchan and Makkachin come tearing into the room, too, joining Viktor on the soft white cotton comforters. Yuuri can’t help but feel something warm and gold expand inside him at the sight; there’s something so fundamentally _right_ about Viktor’s laugh as he scratches both of the poodles behind their ears.

“That train ride was so long, wasn’t it?” Viktor coos to the dogs. “You two were getting so cooped up in our carriage. But we’re here now, we _are_.” He devolves into more excited noises, and Yuuri quietly takes a seat next to him, curling up next to him and holding out his arms for Vicchan to pounce into.

“Your room reminds me of the ocean,” Viktor adds absently, gesturing to the nautical stripes on the upholstered chair, the telescope pointed out one window at the sky. “Didn’t you say you went down here every summer since you were a kid?”

“For as far back as I could remember,” replies Yuuri. “Mari’s room is upstairs, as well as my parents’. Your room should be next door; it used to be a banquet room when this villa was an inn, so it’s pretty big.”

Viktor laughs. “You know I won’t spend much time in there,” he says. Yuuri feels his cheeks warming at that. Part of him still can’t believe that this is really happening — that he’s brought Viktor down to Hasetsu for their first anniversary together.

Their first anniversary. Yuuri freezes suddenly, before disentangling himself from the dogs and Viktor and clambering to his feet. He opens the door, shooing Makkachin and Vicchan out into the hall before nodding at Viktor.

“Meet me at the onsen in ten minutes,” he says.

Viktor rises out of the comforter with a visible pout. “You’re kicking me out of your room?” he complains.

Yuuri’s heart clenches, but he steels himself nonetheless. “Yeah,” he says, gesturing to the door. “You could get undressed for the onsen. I’m sure the chamberlains have a robe for you.”

Viktor makes a whining noise. “But we’ve seen each other naked plenty of times,” he points out. “There’s no point in hiding that.”

“I’ll still see you in a moment,” insists Yuuri, gentle but firm.

With a sigh, Viktor acquiesces, dejectedly rising to his feet and tramping over to the door. He lingers at the threshold, though, his eyes wide and lips wobbly. Yuuri wants nothing more than to capitulate to that gaze, to take Viktor in his arms and never let him go. But he sighs and shakes his head.

“It’ll only be ten minutes,” he points out.

Viktor clings to the doorframe petulantly anyway. “Promise you won’t take long?”

Yuuri chuckles. “Promise,” he says, and quickly closes the door on his boyfriend as soon as he crosses the threshold. Leaning heavily against the wood, Yuuri sighs at the sound of Viktor’s moping footsteps retreating down the hall, before he dives for his mobile.

_Phichit, what if he doesn’t like it?_

* * *

Viktor counts down the minutes until Yuuri emerges from his room in a bathrobe, a couple spare towels tucked under his arm as he takes Viktor’s hand and leads him to the rooms in the villa that had once been the onsen’s locker rooms and bathing facilities.

In their new capacity these rooms are sleeker, more minimalist. Viktor admires the chrome waterfall shower, the marble accents and flooring, the plush vanities and stools. Yuuri sets down his towels on one of the hardwood benches, before casually stripping out of his bathrobe and letting the terrycloth drop to the floor.

Viktor takes it back: just because he’s seen Yuuri naked plenty of times _doesn’t_ mean that he’s used to it. His eyes feast along the curve of Yuuri’s shoulders, along the slope of his spine. Yuuri is soft in the sweetest spots: his belly, his calves, his ass. Viktor only wishes he could have all the time in the world to devote himself to memorising every square inch of his prince’s body.

“I’m a little glad your parents have already left,” he manages after a moment. Yuuri makes a questioning noise, and Viktor undoes his own robe quickly, joining Yuuri at the door leading out to the springs without preamble. “The things I want to do with you right now are not exactly family-friendly.”

Yuuri laughs. “I’m pretty sure there’s a rule against sex in an onsen,” he says.

Viktor sighs at that. “I can fantasise,” he declares. Yuuri slides the door open, stepping out into the springs with a grin. It feels slightly counterintuitive to soak in a hot spring in summer, but Viktor has to admit the prospect of steeping away the weariness of travel from his bones sounds extremely appealing. And so he follows, stepping into the warm water after his boyfriend, sighing as soon as he’s submerged.

Yuuri leans against him once they’ve settled, lazily entangling their fingers before pressing his nose against the curve of Viktor’s jaw. The touch makes Viktor shiver, despite the warm day and the warmer water; he takes their entwined fingers and moves them to his thigh, and Yuuri stifles a giggle against Viktor’s neck.

“I told you, there’s a rule,” he rebukes, but he’s still grinning.

“Isn’t that more for the cleanliness of a public onsen?” wonders Viktor innocently. “This is private.”

“But we can’t just do whatever —” Yuuri’s protest cuts off, though, as Viktor inches their fingers higher on his thigh. “It’s not a good —” Higher still. “Unsanitary —” Yuuri’s fingers brush against the inside of Viktor’s thigh, and the prince sighs in half-relief at that.

“Just try not to come then,” Viktor teases, and Yuuri sends him a determined glare at that.

Guided by his own hand, the prince’s fingers trail along the inside of Viktor’s thigh until they reach his cock, soft but definitely interested in the proceedings. It takes a couple strokes for Yuuri to coax it to hardness, but once he does it takes all of Viktor’s self-control not to spill right then and there.

Yuuri looks at him now, his expression coy yet vulnerable as he lets his fingers be guided along Viktor’s cock. It’s not as if he doesn’t know what Viktor likes; he’s done this by himself far too many times before. But there’s something hot in how pliant he is right now, how he lets Viktor use his hand to please himself. Viktor’s careful to be gentle, to pause and make sure Yuuri’s okay with this as they continue, but given the flush in Yuuri’s cheeks and the ragged pace of his breaths, perhaps his prince has less reservations about doing this in the onsen than he’d previously thought before.

“Viktor,” he murmurs, and that’s all it takes before they’re kissing, before Yuuri’s straddling his lap and Viktor’s hands are cupping his face, fingers caressing along smooth skin as he moans against Yuuri’s mouth. Yuuri’s hands take on a faster pace against his cock, his own rubbing hot and needy against Viktor’s thigh.

But just when it gets to be too much, Yuuri pulls back, putting a teasing distance between his hands and Viktor’s cock with a sly smile. Viktor groans in plain disappointment, but Yuuri giggles, stepping off the ledge in the onsen with a sly wink.

“You said we had to try not to come,” he points out, and Viktor has to admit he probably played himself with that suggestion.

But still, he seeks out Yuuri, drawn as ever into his orbit as if he really is the sun. He catches his prince from behind, hands skimming along Yuuri’s sides to make him laugh. He presses kisses to Yuuri’s shoulders, fingers playing with Yuuri’s nipples until they’re flushed and pert in his hands. He circles an arm around his prince’s waist, urging his hips closer to the swell of Yuuri’s ass.

Yuuri gasps when he feels him, his body tensing in anticipation. Viktor only holds them close a kiss longer, pulling back to step out of the pool and head for the showers.

As expected, his prince joins him moments later, and Viktor very nearly slips against the polished marble floor when Yuuri sinks down onto his knees in front of him below the spray, and takes him into his mouth.

Afterwards, Viktor towels himself off and puts on a loose green jinbei. Yuuri has a matching blue one, though his is more snugly tied. At a word, the chamberlains scamper away, and Yuuri fishes his mobile out of the pocket of his bathrobe, and checks it with a small sigh.

“What is it?” Viktor asks, coming up behind him again to wrap himself in Yuuri’s warmth. His prince smells like clean cotton and pine needles, especially at the nape of his neck, and he shivers delightfully when Viktor presses a kiss there.

“Nothing,” Yuuri hedges, hiding his mobile and turning in Viktor’s arms, lingering close. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

The prince leads him to an informal dining room, which seems to be one of the few rooms covered in tatami. “This is from the original inn,” Yuuri says as they kneel down at a low table on which an afternoon tea meal has been spread out. An attendant pours for them two small mugs of sencha, and Viktor’s fingers twitch for his before he reckons that maybe he should let Yuuri take the lead on it. So he folds his hands in his lap, smiling.

“The furniture? Or the mats?” he asks.

“Both,” says Yuuri. “It’s one of the few places where most of the original inn was preserved, because it was here that my father first proposed to my mother. The hallway where they first met is also preserved, sorta.”

Viktor has to admit it’s a little jarring, but the new villa doesn’t seem to clash terribly with the rougher décor of the dining room. Still, he decides to sip at his tea instead of making any more comments, and Yuuri’s expression falls pensive as he types idly at his mobile.

“My sister’s joining us for dinner,” he says suddenly. Viktor nods, trying to lean over and peer at what Yuuri might be looking at, but the prince determinedly keeps the screen from his roving gaze.

“So secretive,” Viktor mumbles, though there’s not much more besides petulance in his words. Yuuri chuckles at that, bumping playfully against Viktor’s shoulder before taking a bite of one of the tea-cakes that had been set out.

“What do you think of this place so far?” he asks. “I know it’s kinda boring and quiet, especially compared to Tokyo —”

Viktor laughs at that. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Anywhere is perfect when you’re here.” That has been something present in their connection from the start. From the serendipitous encounter in Saint Petersburg all the way here, Yuuri has been the constant that has made his world so much brighter and more alive.

Yuuri ducks his head over his phone, scrunching up his shoulders a little as if that will hide his blush. He’s taken to slouching a little more these days, relaxing almost cat-like against Viktor on the couch in his apartment. It’s sweet, honestly, to see Yuuri lose some of the ridiculous etiquettes and protocols — to turn from the Crown Prince back into Yuuri, from a symbolic leader to a man who just wants to be loved.

Viktor is a little terrified at how much he himself has changed, too, since that fateful meeting in Saint Petersburg.

The tea segues smoothly into dinner preparations as the sky outside begins to dim slowly from blue to purple. Viktor loses himself for a while on the cool tatami floor, listening to the rolling fountains and cicadas and soaking in the early summer humidity. Yuuri sprawls next to him, one hand reached out to connect their fingers even as his chest rises and falls in a fitful rest. But he jolts out of this stupor almost immediately when the screen door slides open and Minako steps in, bowing at Yuuri with only the hint of a nod towards Viktor.

“Mrs Suzuki is to arrive in ten minutes for dinner, Your Highness,” she says. “You’ll receive her in the foyer. Dinner will be in the formal dining room.”

“Is her husband coming, too?” asks Yuuri.

Minako deliberately trains her gaze on the Kyosai watercolour on the other wall, instead of at Yuuri’s current lackadaisical sprawl. “He sends his condolences,” she replies, every word dripping with her feelings about Yuuri’s brother-in-law’s declination of an Imperial invitation. But Yuuri seems to take it in stride.

“It was a long shot,” he says, shrugging. “I haven’t seen Mari in such a long time, he probably doesn’t want to intrude on that.”

“I have never known someone to snub an invitation here,” mutters Minako.

“First time for everything.” Yuuri sighs, turning to look back at Viktor. “I’m sure we’ll get to meet him soon.”

Viktor only really knows the basics about Yuuri’s older sister, most of which he had found out himself through Wikipedia and news articles. Mari Suzuki, who had been Crown Princess prior to her elopement, had been five years older than Yuuri, and only became eligible to _become_ the Crown Princess the year before Yuuri was born. Most articles penned on her elopement tended to cast her as selfish and ungrateful, considering all of the effort it had taken for the Diet to pass the Imperial Succession Law in the first place so that she _could_ rule. Viktor suspects that the reality is very different from the print.

Yuuri’s sister arrives in a small silver Toyota she drives herself, clad in a navy kimono with a cigarette dangling from one finger. Yuuri’s eyes widen when he sees her step into the foyer; he only spares a second to bow before exclaiming, “What happened to your hair?”

“I cut it,” says Mari, ruffling at her bleached tips. Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing the Kunaicho would never have let you do that?” he asks. Mari cracks a smile at him, before extending her hand.

“You must be the mysterious reporter,” she drawls, grinding out her cigarette in the driveway. Viktor notices Minako’s deliberate turn of the head to mask her disapproval. “I’m Yuuri’s older sister, so if you try anything funny, you’ll have to go through me first, okay?”

Yuuri mutters something in Japanese that’s probably something along the lines of him not being a damsel in distress, given Mari’s teasing grin when she rebuts it. Yuuri flushes in near petulance, before gesturing emphatically towards the formal dining room.

This room’s wooden floor is polished within an inch of its life; its cushions are luxurious silk and the lanterns are sleek and modern. The sound of a fountain plays in the distance as servers slide silently from behind silk screens and through glowing paper doors. Viktor is personally slightly befuddled by the presence of more than one set of chopsticks.

“One of them is for putting the food on your plate, the other one is for putting the food in your mouth,” Mari explains quietly to him, and Viktor nods gratefully in reply.

Both the ex-Crown Princess and the Crown Prince glide through each course of dinner with grace and ease, seemingly knowing exactly how to eat which dishes in which order without being told otherwise. Viktor’s vaguely aware of the dishes himself — he’s definitely no stranger to kaiseki at this point — but he has to admit the almost instinctive way in which Yuuri and Mari dance through the beautifully-presented courses makes his heart clench. Maybe there’s someone else out there who won’t need to be taught this sort of stuff, who’d be a better fit for Yuuri. Maybe the intricacies of Japanese haute cuisine are proof that all of this is a separate world in which he truly has no business intruding.

“So, I’ve read a couple of your pieces, Mr Nikiforov,” says Mari, with a piece of sashimi halfway to her mouth. “Have you kept up to date at all on the McCarthy case?”

“Not since the lawsuits,” admits Viktor, shaking his head.

“Well, apparently McCarthy’s been indicted for sexually assaulting a fourteen-year-old,” replies Mari frankly. Minako sends her a sharp glare from where she stands behind Yuuri, causing Mari to make a face in reply. “He’s been forced to resign, too, and they’re calling for a special election next month to replace him. Karma’s real, isn’t it?”

Viktor chuckles. “I suppose,” he says. “They never really got him for the election tampering, so I’ll take what I can get.”

Mari hums. “Speaking of elections, though, Yuuri — did you hear that Matsudaira is considering calling for a snap election?”

Yuuri scrunches his brows, nodding at the servers as they bring out the next course. “What for? There’s nothing that warrants him doing so.”

“Nothing, besides the fact that the Crown Prince is shacking up with a foreigner.” Mari winks at Viktor. “Apparently divisions among the more liberal Diet members are shaking up the parties. Matsudaira’s probably trying to make a power grab.”

“Don’t they have other things to worry about?” Viktor wonders. “Like North Korea’s missile tests, maybe?”

“Everyone knows about Matsudaira’s obsession with remilitarising Japan, though,” Mari points out. “You and Viktor are a new element no one expected — people are a lot more divided over you two than you’d think.”

“Why do they think it’s their business to care about who I’m dating?” Yuuri rolls his eyes.

Mari snorts. “Probably the same reason why I get booted out of the family the instant I go and get married,” she points out. “The purists don’t like having unknown men in the Imperial Family. Some of them still like functioning on the outdated concept that lineage should be traced back through men.”

“They didn’t have an issue with Tomoya, though.” Yuuri stirs at his soup, pursing his lips. Across the table, Mari finishes hers and moves onto the grilled fish. “I mean, even if he transitioned _after_ the wedding. They didn’t have an issue with _that_ , either.”

Mari rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she says, waving her chopsticks.

Yuuri’s eyes flicker back down to his soup with a small sigh. Viktor, who has finished his fish, looks on as a couple more dishes are brought out. Palate cleansers, light vegetables, acidic-tasting soups — they are all served up beautifully on tiny little plates, bite-size portions that end up being deceptively filling. Viktor watches as Mari arranges her dishes in order, and copies her quickly.

“You think they’d oppose us because of a lack of progeny?” Yuuri’s voice is low yet deadly, his expression flat as he finishes up his soup. Mari stabs a pickled radish; Minako’s lips have thinned into a line over the course of the conversation.

“Isn’t that the _point_ of being royal?” Mari asks drily, her eyes narrowed. “Get married for the sole purpose of producing heirs so you can continue inheriting an office that is largely ceremonial? If there are no heirs, then why bother?”

Yuuri’s jaw clenches, and he says something sharp in Japanese. Based on how Mari’s gaze darts towards him, Viktor suspects it’s something intended to end the conversation.

He tries to focus on the food in front of him, but his appetite has ebbed considerably. The Yuuri next to him is no longer the lazily-smiling indolent creature from the afternoon, who had touched him in the onsen and loved him further outside of it. Yuuri’s back is ramrod straight; his eyes are less like honey and more like obsidian, hard and gleaming.

It’s a side Viktor rarely sees outside of press footage, outside of conferences and meetings when Yuuri must be at his sharpest and most dignified. And the way he deftly shuts down the conversation surrounding marriage and heirs digs just a _little_ painfully into Viktor’s chest.

Mari stays for a little while after dinner, wandering through the villa and talking quietly with her little brother. Viktor lingers a couple paces behind; it’s not like he could understand what they’re saying, anyway.

“You know what I really don’t miss about this life?” Mari asks suddenly in English, as they stand on the threshold before the little deck and the steps that lead down into the gardens, carefully curated and integrated with the onsen in a blend of aesthetics and functionality. Out in the distance, beyond the trill of the fountains, Viktor can hear the dull roar and thud of the ocean against the shore.

“What?” he asks.

“The waka poetry,” replies Mari, grinning. “We had to learn how to write those almost as soon as we learnt how to write. Yuuri’s penned a couple, you know, about snow and the ocean and… Vicchan, right?”

Yuuri hisses something that Viktor assumes is Japanese for ‘shut up’. Mari laughs.

“Hiramatsu used to rebuke me for not being able to write good poems,” she continues, looking out at the purpled evening sky. Viktor follows her gaze, noting the distant twinkle of stars and the distant shadows of pines. A symphony of crickets kick up in the warm twilight, accompanied by the dim glow of fireflies.

“He said you weren’t good at describing nature,” Yuuri says.

“Some of us have other things to do besides smell the roses,” Mari replies. “You ever think you were meant for something different than what you’ve got?”

Viktor looks at Yuuri, watches his brows scrunch up and his shoulders tense as if he’s remembering conversations held a year ago — remembering promises and speculations rendered in a different lifetime, under different circumstances.

 _We’ll eat katsudon on our wedding day_. The statement still haunts Viktor in the dark corners of the night, in the moments when he feels most keenly the shard of Yuuri’s doubt and rejection. As a prince, Yuuri cannot promise anything so casual. But as himself —

“You know I’ve always wanted to be a figure skater,” Yuuri says coolly, his expression perfectly neutral. “But I can’t afford to think about what-ifs anymore.”

* * *

After Mari leaves, Yuuri takes Viktor to bed. Viktor tucks into his side, his expression unreadable, and it takes several lingering kisses for him to open back up again.

Yuuri knows Viktor must be mulling over the conversation from dinner, when Mari had brought up one of the chiefest reasons for the conservative opposition to his relationship with Viktor. There’s plenty of ways for him and Viktor to get children, but none that have been approved by the Kunaicho — specifically because the Kunaicho have never had to deal with a non-reproductive same-sex couple under their care before.

He knows there’s a divide there. That people would not care nearly so much if Yuuri had not been a symbol of the country, a once-descendant of Amaterasu Omikami. Love is love, but when the future of an entire institution depends on it, sometimes restrictions can crop up.

Yuuri tries not to linger for too long on that as he takes Viktor thick and hard into himself, joins their bodies slowly with his eyes fixed on Viktor’s. Viktor’s expression slides from pensive and melancholy into reverent and overwhelmed, just like how Yuuri likes it, and with a soft sigh of Viktor’s name he begins to move.

He loses himself after that, only properly coming back the morning after when he opens an eye to find the spot next to him on the bed empty but warm. Sitting up, Yuuri rubs the sleep from his eyes, exhaling when he checks his phone to see an itinerary from Minako laid out for the day. So much for a summer retreat.

Viktor comes in from the ensuite bathroom then, clad in nothing but Yuuri’s old extra-large Harvard t-shirt, the crimson hem riding up his thighs. Yuuri’s breath flees him, especially as Viktor leans in to kiss him good morning. His breath is minty from the toothpaste; Yuuri closes his eyes and exhales.

Viktor cringes. “Morning breath,” he says, and Yuuri laughs, feeling some warmth seeping into his cheeks at that.

“I have an itinerary,” he says quietly when they break apart. “There’s some stuff I have to do today.”

“i thought you were on vacation,” wonders Viktor with a pout.

“Rarely,” replies Yuuri, shrugging. “Retreats to other parts of the country tend to be goodwill working vacations. Apparently I’ve been invited to appear at Hasetsu Castle in the morning, and Ice Castle in the afternoon during Kenjirou Minami’s practice.”

“That should be exciting,” Viktor remarks. “What should I do?”

Yuuri considers it for a moment, and then reaches for Viktor’s cheek. “You could come with me,” he offers, and Viktor’s eyes light up brighter than summer fireworks.

Isabella Yang is one of the people who greet them at Hasetsu Castle, having snuck out of the consulate to come take pictures with the Crown Prince. There are other politicians and officials there, too, but Yuuri finds himself smiling brighter with Isabella than with the others.

“So is that Viktor?” she asks amusedly, nodding towards where Viktor is examining a shachihoko statue with some trepidation. “You know, your sorta-boyfriend.”

“What gave you _that_ impression?” Yuuri wonders.

“No one _ever_ wants to comment on it,” replies Isabella, shrugging. “But it’s not like I don’t have eyes, you know. Or access to the Internet.”

Yuuri feels his ears heating up at that. “He’s more than just ‘sorta’ at this point,” he mutters, and Isabella laughs.

“I bet it sucks to have to hide it,” she says. Yuuri shrugs at that, though, slipping a hand into Viktor’s in front of the press cameras. The shutters click madly; Viktor’s cheeks are pink when Yuuri turns to look at him.

The want burning in Viktor’s eyes is as plain as daylight, but Yuuri has to remind himself not to give in to his own answering need. He briefly squeezes Viktor’s hand before folding his hands behind his back, turning towards the castle and nodding at the tour guide to signal that he’s ready to go in.

The official visit to the castle is punctuated mostly by the click of cameras and the quiet reverential tones of the tour guide. Yuuri coasts through most of it; he’s visited the castle enough times in his childhood to have memorised most of the tour. But Viktor’s enraptured expressions make up for most of it, and he even takes selfies with some of the exhibits,

“Can I join you?” Yuuri asks him as they pause next to a suit of samurai armour. Viktor nods; the two of them beaming for Viktor’s camera instead of the press ones being wielded just a couple feet away. Yuuri takes a couple more selfies with Viktor, before his boyfriend looks over at the reporters and notes:

“You’re encouraging a lot of selfies, considering there’s an army of photographers who’d gladly take your pictures for you.”

Yuuri shrugs. “It’s a perception thing,” he admits. “Photographs with you give me more control over my image than photographs from the press scripted to the Kunaicho’s standards.”  

“Ironic, considering the Kunaicho is all about image control,” says Viktor. “Speaking of which —” he leans in, pressing a kiss to Yuuri’s cheek. His camera flashes again, and Yuuri laughs.

“Are you going to post that?” he asks.

“Do you want me to?” Viktor wonders. Yuuri considers it. Minako would probably have both of their heads if they posted something that intimate, especially after the photos on Yuuri’s birthday that had thrown them onto this path together.

Though he has to admit, that photo had been a long time coming. At least ever since a summer night in June almost a year ago, in a city on the banks of a river where the sun refuses to dip below the horizon for an entire month. The moment he tasted the Neva on Viktor Nikiforov’s lips, Yuuri had known this would be a point of no return.

He’s questioned many choices he’s made in his life, but never his decision to kiss Viktor.

Yuuri smiles. “Let’s post one without the kiss,” he says. “Save the other one for your eyes alone.”

Viktor grins. “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

In the afternoon, Viktor finds himself barely able to finish his lunch (which consists of a bento box that reminds him more of last night’s kaiseki meal than an actual Japanese bento, and a bottle of water) before he’s being shepherded along with Yuuri to Ice Castle Hasetsu to watch the training session of Japan’s ace skater and Olympic gold medalist Kenjirou Minami.

For a couple hours, all he does is sit quietly in the stands next to Yuuri while the young skater runs through his programmes for next season with his coach. Yuuri watches with silent, reverent attentiveness, but Viktor is more jittery, his gaze darting every which way throughout the vaulted space of the ice rink.

He can’t look at his phone — the bevy of cameras still haven’t left, and no doubt any misstep on his part will be documented for future usage. Even though the Kunaicho had asked for the press to back off on him, Viktor would not put it past any of these photographers to sell incriminating photographs to the foreign press. The Japanese royals may still be off-limits, but it’s always open season on the foreigners who love them.

Yuuri hums along to the music for Minami’s free skate, clapping politely at every jump like at a competition. The rink lights bring out the obsidian gleam in his hair and the determined glint in his eyes, so similar and yet so different from the look he’d worn in Suntory Hall.

But finally, the official practice ends, and Minami’s coach whispers something to Minako at the rink’s edge. Minako comes up to them, smiling brightly. “Your Highness, the coach is asking if you’d like to join Minami-senshu on the ice,” she says.

Yuuri looks up at her. “I didn’t bring my skates,” he says. “Neither did Viktor.”

“I don’t have skates,” adds Viktor. “At least, not here in Japan.”

“Ice Castle can provide rentals,” replies Minako breezily. “Obviously not at a competitive level quality, but decent enough for a good photo opportunity. Your Highness, I do suggest you consider it.”

“I’d like to,” replies Yuuri, already halfway out of his seat. He turns back, raising an eyebrow at Viktor, and Viktor smiles as he clambers to his feet as well.

They’re outfitted with the rink’s rental skates and sent out onto the ice to meet Minami. Viktor hangs back a little, especially as the reporters aim their cameras towards the ice, shutters clicking madly as Yuuri shakes Minami’s hand and the two of them start to skate around the the rink. Viktor can hear the younger man talking Yuuri’s ear off at a mile a minute, but Yuuri takes it in stride, his smile never wavering.

Viktor feels like he’s been shoehorned in.

It’s not the first time today that he’s felt like a grain of sand in an otherwise well-oiled machine. Seeing this side of Yuuri firsthand, part and parcel with every public appearance today, is a sudden, sickening reminder of the gravity of the choices he’s making.

He remembers Mari’s freedom. Remembers the way she casually discussed politics, and love, and her hatred of writing waka. She moved as though some heavy mantle had been cast from her shoulders, and she could finally breathe at last.

And Yuuri, in turn, must shoulder that weight as he continues to smile through the rest of the skating session, none of the freedom he had shown on the ice in Saint Petersburg evident here. There would be no double Axels here, no step sequences, no figures being traced beyond easy loops and gentle spins. Things that can be captured for the cameras, but not dangerous enough for the Kunaicho to fear for his life.

Yuuri skates over to him, extending a hand. Viktor feels the cameras coming to capture him as well; he smiles as he takes Yuuri’s hand and follows him around the rink. Yuuri says nothing for a while, evidently content just to hold Viktor’s hand. Viktor casts a glance towards the cameras, but Yuuri reaches for his cheek, turning his gaze away.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “They don’t exist.”

“I know,” says Viktor. He’s been on the other end of the pen, on the other side of the palace gates. But the other royal families he’s covered have never been minded quite like this. Minami skates over, chattering in Japanese before bowing to Viktor and managing a couple shy statements in English. Viktor smiles and bows, not knowing what else to say.

The encounter is over soon enough, though, and Yuuri guides him off the ice, towards where Minako and the guards are waiting. They take off their rental boots, just as Yuuri’s mobile rings. Minako takes it out, looks at it briefly.

“Phone call from Phichit, Your Highness,” she says to Yuuri, who takes it with a smile over at Viktor. Yuuri ducks into the hallway, closely followed by a guard, while Viktor waits with Minako by the side of the rink.

“How have you enjoyed your day so far, Mr Nikiforov?” Minako asks him. Viktor looks out across the ice, towards where the press are gathered to talk to Minami and his coach. He sighs.

“Are they going to come and do the same for us?” he asks.

“For His Imperial Highness? Yes,” says Minako. “They will not care so much for your opinion, though.”

“Thanks,” says Viktor drily. He looks over at the doors, where the silhouette of the guard is faintly visible through the stained glass. “Is this what it’s like for him every day?”

That’s almost a redundant question. _Yes, it is_. But a shadow of something flits across Minako’s expression, as if she wishes (deep down, perhaps) that she could say no to that.

Wishes she could confirm that Yuuri can have time to be himself on a regular basis.

“This is the sort of world you would find yourself entering should things become serious between you two,” Minako says instead, nodding towards the reporters. “The Crown Princely Couple are the first people to which many duties will fall should Their Imperial Majesties be unable to carry them out. This includes the Emperor’s duties to the Nation, particularly the Diet.”

 _This isn’t even a sampling of the average day_ , she doesn’t say, but Viktor knows it all the same. Yuuri comes back, his expression somewhat subdued, and takes Viktor’s hand as he asks Minako something in Japanese. She looks at Viktor briefly before replying, and Yuuri then tugs Viktor with him out into the hallway.

“I just need to do a brief meet and greet with the press to wrap this up,” he tells him, placing a hand on Viktor’s cheek with his small, secret smile. “You’ll wait for me in the car? We’re heading back to the villa after this, and then you have me for the rest of the evening.”

Viktor’s heart clenches. He takes Yuuri’s hand, presses a kiss to the knuckles. The guard in the corridor averts his eyes.

“I’ll wait,” Viktor says, and Yuuri nods at the guard to escort him out of the rink. Viktor’s proud of the fact that he only looks back once.

* * *

**To:** Phichit  
[image.jpg]

 **To:** Phichit  
They’re here and I’m so nervous

 **From:** Phichit  
oooo they look amazing! he’ll love it i bet ヾ(*ゝω・*)ﾉ

 **To:** Phichit  
Are you sure about that

 **From:** Phichit  
its from u of course he will!

 **To:** Phichit  
He’s been looking kind of sad lately? When he thinks I can’t see him

 **To:** Phichit  
I think he’s taking it too much to heart, what I told him about not being ready for marriage

 **From:** Phichit  
but it’s good that he’s thinking about that right? even if he looks sad??? it means he’s really serious about the future for you both maybe! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑

 **To:** Phichit  
But what if he thinks I don’t care about him

 **From:** Phichit  
have you told him about the fact that you’ve been reading his articles since the government surveillance piece

 **To:** Phichit  
Omg no that’s weird

 **From:** Phichit  
maybe you should ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 **To:** Phichit  
No it’d make me look creepy

* * *

On the morning of their anniversary, Yuuri wakes before Viktor.

He can hear the chamberlains out in the hallway along with the scampering of dog paws, which means that Makkachin and Vicchan have already been walked. It had taken Makkachin a couple attempts to get used to Imperial handlers, and it’s obvious the old poodle prefers Viktor and Yuuri walking him, but he seems to be adjusting to the new circumstances well enough in any case.

Viktor is still asleep in the bed next to him, a streak of silver in a sea of white and blue. Yuuri reaches out and briefly entangles their fingers, smiling as Viktor drowsily shifts in his sleep towards him.

There’s a knock at the door, and moments later Minako comes striding in, her folder clasped tightly in her hands.

“Is he awake?” she asks, looking towards Viktor. Yuuri shakes his head. “Good. I just came in to inform you that breakfast is ready, Your Highness.”

“What’s my schedule, Minako-san?” Yuuri wonders, his stomach already wrenching at the concept of needing to spend the day doing goodwill appearances.

Minako frowns as she consults her folder. “I only have a beach visit for you today, Your Highness,” she replies.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “A beach visit,” he repeats.

Minako nods. “I believe you haven’t taken Viktor to the beach yet.”

Yuuri lets go of the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Slowly, his hand unclenches from where it’d been gripping the bedsheets; slowly, he lets his smile reach his eyes.

“Thank you, Minako-san.”

“All of the appearances that would have been today have been pushed to tomorrow,” she warns him.

Yuuri waves a hand. “I’ll worry about it then,” he says. “Thank you, again.”

Minako bows again, before sliding out of the room. Yuuri turns to where Viktor lies next to him, his eyes closed and a sly smile tugging at his lips, and leans in to kiss him.

“I know you’re awake,” he says. “Come on, we’ve got breakfast.”

They arrive in the informal dining room moments later, wrapped in their robes and each other. Viktor’s eyes light up at the spread laid out for them; he kneels down with a chuckle and examines the carefully-fried eggs and toast.

“Isn’t this what I made you —”

“On our first morning?” asks Yuuri, smiling. “Yeah, it is. Except no Lipton.”

“Thank god,” replies Viktor, rolling his eyes. He inhales the smell of the sencha wafting up from his own cup, before admiring the delicate shell-pink colour and intricate brush detailing on the cup itself. “I’ve never seen this set before.”

“That’s another present,” says Yuuri, holding up his own corresponding one in a more blueish tint. “They’re local-made.”

“Were they a set?” asks Viktor. Yuuri nods, flushing under the full wattage of Viktor’s brightest smile. “That’s so sweet, Yuuri! I love it!”

“My schedule is also clear for today, so we’ll finally get to go to the beach,” adds Yuuri, and that seems to be the cincher. Viktor practically launches himself across the table at him, peppering kisses all over his face, laughing brightly as he leans their foreheads together.

Yuuri knows it’s just the least he can do. He’d been surprisingly busy throughout this retreat, leaving Viktor behind at the villa more often than not. And even when Viktor does come along, sometimes these appearances only seem to reinforce the distance they still have left between them — distances that Yuuri himself has maintained, out of concern for Viktor’s happiness.

He’d still never talk to Viktor again if it means the man would be spared the abbatoir of the Kunaicho’s rules and regulations, if it means Viktor could continue to be a bright spark of energy through all of the lives he touches. But it’s hard to remind himself of that, not when Viktor is pressing him into the tatami, their breakfast forgotten for the moment being. Yuuri drowns in Viktor’s kisses, pulls him down to return as many as he can, and it takes them a long while to return their attention to breakfast.

But afterwards, Yuuri kisses away some jam lingering at the corner of Viktor’s mouth, smiling as he watches Viktor line their cups side by side for a photo.

“Let’s go to the beach,” he says, and Viktor grins and readily agrees.

* * *

**v-nikiforov** his and his teacups ❤  

_liked by phichit+chu, dreamingoflove, and 5923 others_

> **phichit+chu** #crownprincesanniversary (●♡∀♡)
> 
> **nikki5eva** we are blessed this anniversary with such soft content im going to die
> 
> **goldenkatsuki** name a more iconic pair, i’ll wait
> 
> **the-royalistas** WOW! they’re so lovely! what brand?

**v-nikiforov** hasetsu beach is so beautiful!

_liked by phichit+chu, linnaeuscarolus, and 2827 others_

> **costellations** so pretty! come to the UK sometime we would love to have you!
> 
> **goldenkatsuki** yeah the beach is pretty but the real view is prince katsuki, sorry i don’t make the rules
> 
> **phichit+chu** yuuri never took me there щ(゜ロ゜щ)
> 
> **supahstar** amazing! have fun! love from korea!

**v-nikiforov** makka and vicchan have fun in the sun

_liked by phichit+chu, mila-b, and 3409 others_

> **dreamingoflove** wow they’re already such good friends!
> 
> **linnaeuscarolus** THE BEST DOGGOS (╥_╥)
> 
> **christophe-gc** julia says hi from zurich!
> 
> **firefliesonice** they’re too soft oh my god

**v-nikiforov** these showers are so cute :)

_liked by phichit+chu, christophe-gc, and 2356 others_

> **marieluvsten** yuuri looks cuter lol!
> 
> **shiftyshar** bwahh i love him so much
> 
> **geugseongs** aww you two look so happy :)
> 
> **lizaskating** happy anniversary from australia!

* * *

Viktor knows that most parts of the world experience nightfall in mid-June, but it’s one thing to know it, and another to experience it. He likes it, in all honesty — it means he doesn’t need blackout curtains to block out the sun, and he also gets to see a stunning summer twilight along the sparkling sea.

They linger at the beach well past nightfall, watching the stars come out against the velvety purple night. The chamberlains start a small bonfire on the beach, golden sparks dancing up towards the heavens like little stars on their own, and grill some freshly-caught fish for dinner. Yuuri had picked up a box of sparklers in town, and after all the fish have been eaten, he hands out some of the sparklers to passing children so that they can light them with the fire.

It’s immediate chaos, of course, and Viktor captures all of it with his phone, just like how he’d captured the rest of the day. As the children dance and play all around him, Yuuri stands tall and beams like sunshine, divine and radiant and benevolent. But after a moment, he lights his own sparklers to join in on the fun, and Viktor is left entranced by the ribbons of light he leaves in the wake of his dancing.

It’s a different kind of magic, incomparable to Yuuri’s smile under the perpetually twilit sky of the White Nights. Here the evening falls fast, but Yuuri lights it up himself with his entire being, his body willowy as it moves through some unknown dance. Viktor’s heart lurches as Yuuri dances closer to him, the last of the sparkler fizzling out just seconds before Yuuri throws his arms around Viktor’s shoulder and pulls him closer.

“Dance with me,” he suggests, and Viktor complies as easily as breathing, feeling the sand warm and pliant under his feet as he moves out onto the dunes with Yuuri. They’d spent the day out here letting the salt spray of the ocean breeze glaze along their skin; when Viktor raises one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips, he can faintly taste that.

Yuuri’s breath hitches like it’s the first time. Viktor laughs at that, as he pulls the prince in and kisses him.

As the night continues to fall, Viktor spins Yuuri in and out of his arms in dizzy little circles, their feet dancing to the song of the wine-dark sea. Yuuri laughs, breathless, as Viktor dips him briefly and pulls him closer; he then takes charge and transforms their swing into a tango into a salsa into a waltz. There’s no particular rhyme nor reason, just the need to be close to one another, and Viktor almost wishes that it would never end.

But after a while, his movements begin to flag from fatigue, and he has to drop Yuuri’s hands and stop to catch his breath. The children and the chamberlains are farther up the beach than before, and while most of the sparklers are now long gone, the children have since distracted themselves with the emergence of the fireflies.

Yuuri takes Viktor’s hand, smiling. “Do you have fireflies in Russia?” he asks. Viktor chuckles, shaking his head as he watches the little dots of light flit away from grasping little hands, like little dancing stars come down from heaven to play with mortal children.

“I think it’s too cold for them in Russia,” he says. “But I’ve seen them before, once or twice.”

“They’re like the cherry blossoms,” says Yuuri as he squeezes Viktor’s hand. “Beautiful but temporary.”

“A lot of good things are like that,” replies Viktor, feeling his own heart flutter at the feeling of Yuuri tucking his head against the crook of his neck. “Brief pockets of happiness to remind us what life really is about.”

Yuuri says nothing to that for a long while, as they make their way slowly back up the beach to the bonfire. Viktor watches him, though, wondering at the enigmatic twinkle in his prince’s eyes as he does.

Once they reach the bonfire, Yuuri informs Minako that they are turning in for the night, but the chamberlains can spend more time out at the beach if they want to. “But I’m not that tired,” Viktor complains, as Yuuri then begins to lead him away from the beach to the lamplit streets of Hasetsu. His prince smiles knowingly.

“Neither am I,” he replies, and Viktor wonders if he should feel ashamed at how quickly warmth pools in his gut at that.

The walk back to the villa through the summer evening is filled with a warm tension, curling outwards from every point of contact between Yuuri’s body and Viktor’s. Yuuri’s eyes glow like embers even under the streetlights; his fingers entwine with Viktor’s as they step over the threshold of the darkened villa. His footsteps echo, quiet but sure, across the wood and marble hallways all the way to their room.

The moon is only a bare sliver of light tonight, but the sky is dotted with stars and the backyard is glowing with fireflies, and so there are only the softest and dimmest of lights to guide them into each other’s arms. A brisk night breeze flutters in through the open window, stirring at Yuuri’s hair as he pulls back from Viktor’s hungry kiss and steps away into the ensuite.

Viktor fidgets at the sudden distance between them; he sits down on the bed with a familiar anticipatory nervousness in his gut, like it’s their first time together and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Experimentally, he tugs off his shirt and jeans and lies back against the sheets, trying to make it seem like he doesn’t know what Yuuri could potentially be doing in the bathroom nearby. He’s not sure if he succeeded, though, because moments later the door to the ensuite swings open and Yuuri is standing there, slack-jawed, in his bathrobe.

“Oh,” says Viktor, and that’s all he gets out before Yuuri is upon him, straddling his hips and capturing his lips with ever-growing need. Viktor surrenders to him almost immediately, pinned against the pillows and plundered of breath. When they break, the faintest trail of saliva hangs in the air between their lips, and Viktor’s heart is hammering somewhere near his jugular.

“You’re so —” Yuuri begins, but he cuts off with a soft mewl as Viktor’s hand comes around to squeeze his ass through soft terrycloth. Viktor chuckles at it, only to be met with the reproachful glare of his prince.

“What am I?” he teases, pecking soft kisses down the glimpse of skin just before the collar of the robe, looking up at Yuuri through his lashes.

“Terrible,” retorts Yuuri, though there’s no edge to his words; instead he plops a kiss onto Viktor’s nose before leaning back a little and tugging free the fastenings of his robe. Viktor exhales, as the soft material falls carelessly to the bed, and his prince lingers in scraps of blue lace that leave precious little to Viktor’s imagination.

“Wow,” he says, for lack of something better. Yuuri laughs.

“That the best word you can find for this?” he asks.

“I’m speechless, give me a moment,” retorts Viktor, tracing a reverent finger along the scalloped edge of the ice-blue thigh-highs. Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed. “Where did you — did you ask —”

“Phichit helped,” says Yuuri quickly, his cheeks flushing bright red. “God, I’d never — I’d rather die than make the Kunaicho get this for me.”

“Thank god,” says Viktor. “I mean, not about you dying. About the Kunaicho not knowing. Um. Let’s not talk about them?”

“Let’s not talk too much at all,” agrees Yuuri, a devious smile playing across his lips as he arches his hips closer to Viktor’s. Viktor can feel how hard he is already, and it only makes things worse for himself. With a soft groan, he digs his fingers into the skin at the small of Yuuri’s back.

“I’d love to put your mouth to better use,” he says, and that’s the last really intelligent thing he says for a while as Yuuri grinds down against him and captures his lips again.

Afterwards, he drifts in and out of sleep in the circle of Yuuri’s arms, his breathing timed inexorably to the rhythm of Yuuri’s heartbeat. Yuuri’s fingers play through his hair and draw slow designs against his skin; Viktor’s content to close his eyes and remain still, his own fingers idle against the crescents he’d dug into Yuuri’s hipbones earlier.

“I’ve thought a lot about us,” says Yuuri after a moment, “in a long-term way.”

Viktor’s breath hitches. He opens his eyes, peering up at where Yuuri’s shine, reflecting the golden flickers of light just outside the window.

“It’s just a selfish little thing.” Yuuri sighs, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s brow. “But it scares me how much I want it.”

“Why does it scare you?” asks Viktor, his voice still a little hoarse from the moans and whimpers Yuuri had coaxed out of him earlier. Slowly, the prince extricates himself from Viktor, clambering out of bed and crossing to the window of his room. The night breeze flutters the drapes, dropping the heat of the evening by several degrees. Viktor shivers, despite it still being rather warm.

Yuuri opens the set of doors that leads out to the small patio overlooking this garden. It’s secluded from the onsen nearby, with its own small fountain and greenery. Throwing on his robe, the prince heads out onto the patio and sits down on the deck, dangling his feet over the ledge. A couple fireflies dance past him, beautiful yet ephemeral, and Viktor feels a lump rising in his throat as he watches Yuuri extend his hand, catching the little bugs in the cage between his fingers.

He slowly follows suit, disregarding the scraps of Yuuri’s lingerie and his own clothes littering the ground as he hunts for his own robe, joining Yuuri out on the patio once he has it tied around him. Yuuri is examining the fireflies as they wander across the palm of his hand; once Viktor sits down next to him they take flight, lighting up again once safely out of reach.

“I used to catch fireflies as a kid,” Yuuri says quietly, folding his hands in his lap. “I would put them in a jar and have them light up my room at night. But in the morning, I would always find them all dead. They’d suffocated in the jar while I slept.”

Viktor says nothing still, watching the way Yuuri plays with his fingers, fidgets with the cloth of his robe. They’re all little tics the prince lets himself have in private, signs of vulnerability tucked away from the press and the Kunaicho alike. Just like his posture, as he hesitantly bows his head against Viktor’s shoulder.

“This life will suffocate you, Viktor, you know it. So many other Imperial consorts are led into the gilded cage only to have the Kunaicho choke the life and individuality out of them. I see the scars of it in my mother’s eyes, and her smile. She, too, almost lost herself trying to light up my father’s life.”

 _I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you_ , he doesn’t say, but Viktor reads it in the lines of his face, the bowing of his shoulders. As always, Yuuri doesn’t seem to believe himself worthy of love, especially as someone so deeply intertwined with an institution dedicated to stifling the life out of any outsider that could potentially damage the sanctity of the Chrysanthemum Throne.

Viktor sighs, pressing a kiss to the dark halo of Yuuri’s hair. “I’m not a firefly,” he says, “and neither’s your mama. We’re not temporary little creatures that only shine for a month before they die. You know I want to stand by you, no matter who you are. You could be the Emperor, or you could be the poorest nobody on this planet, and I would still love you.”

“I want to believe that,” admits Yuuri, his hand now reaching over for Viktor’s. Viktor offers it readily, smiling at the way the lights in Yuuri’s eyes seem to dance like the fireflies themselves. “And that’s why thinking about forever with you scares me. Because I want it, more than anything, and yet —”

He reaches with his other hand, running the backs of his fingers against Viktor’s cheek.

“You’re still so bright, with so much left to give, and to steal you from the world would be so selfish of me.”

Viktor exhales, entwining the fingers of their joined hands. He raises them to his lips and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles.

“These past few days have shown me just how much I have left to learn,” he admits. “But I think I’m willing to learn it all, just to be with you.”

Yuuri smiles at that. “You would?” he asks.

“Anything and everything,” says Viktor, and seals the promise with a kiss. Yuuri leans into it, his hands now coming to rest on Viktor’s shoulders; Viktor’s heart races even as his own hands come to grasp Yuuri by the waist, pressing him back against the wooden patio.

He rememorises the lines and curves of Yuuri’s body now, under the starlight with the distant roar of the ocean playing in his ears. The fastenings of Yuuri’s robe fall open under his lips and fingers, re-exposing lightly-tanned skin. Viktor almost misses the lace from earlier in the evening, but he’s also grateful for not having to push them aside and take them off in order to get access to all of Yuuri.

Yuuri’s fingers tangle in his hair, tightening as his mouth travels past his navel to the vee of his hips. He’s already half-hard when Viktor’s lips encircle his tip; it doesn’t take long for him to fully harden as Viktor takes him into his mouth.

It’s moments like these that Viktor treasures the most, when everything else in the outside world melts away like snow in the springtime, when the only thing that matters is Yuuri. The moans of Viktor’s name on his lips, the tugging of Viktor’s hair with his fingers, the arching of his body into Viktor’s kisses — Yuuri is a symphony of desire, and Viktor is trying his hardest to conduct him.

Out here, with the distant gleam of the fireflies and the lingering echoes of the sea as their only witnesses, Viktor promises himself to Yuuri over and over again, loving him with every kiss and every touch until Yuuri’s soft gasp of his name heralds the salty-bitter taste of his come against Viktor’s tongue.

Yuuri’s fingers pull sharply at his hair. Blinking away the stars in his eyes, Viktor swallows before licking at his lips and meeting Yuuri’s gaze. The prince’s breathing is ragged; his cheeks are flushed bright pink even as he smiles contentedly at Viktor.

“Do you need…?” he asks quietly, gesturing vaguely towards Viktor’s legs, but Viktor smiles and shakes his head, lying down onto the patio besides him.

“I just need you,” he says. _For now, and for forever_ , he adds silently, as their fingers entwine and they watch the fireflies slowly mingle back to the stars above.

* * *

**Crown Prince Yuuri’s Anniversary Teacups, 16 June 2018**

**dressingroyal**

The partner of Crown Prince Yuuri of Japan, Viktor Nikiforov, posted the following picture of a set of matching teacups to Instagram to commemorate their one-year anniversary. These teacups are a type of Japanese pottery called ‘meoto yunomi’, which literally translates to ‘married couple cup’. Could this mean something special for Mr Nikiforov? ;)

The cups themselves were specially made for the Crown Prince by local artisans from the Karatsu-Yaki Ware Cooperative Union, but already a lot of imitation versions have popped up! I’ve optioned a couple inexpensive but comparable copies here, here, and here. Otemae chodai itashimasu!

* * *

The rest of the retreat passes like a dream. Even the goodwill visits die down a little, once all the major events are covered. Yuuri also hosts people at the villa for lunches and dinners, spending hours wrapped in deep discussion about tourism and the local economy while Viktor makes himself scarce in the guest bedroom or the library.

Yuuri tries his hardest to stick to protocol during these meetings, but he can only hear so many times the same scheme about putting Viktor’s face on the tourism posters. All Yuuri can do is get through the meetings as quickly as possible, say some mild platitudes that do not actually promise anything, and remind the members of the tourism board that Viktor isn’t a member of the Imperial Family or even a Japanese citizen.

The last time he does this, it’s the morning of their return to Tokyo. The head of the tourism board bows and scrapes at the slightest implication of Yuuri’s displeasure, but there’s an undeniable hunger in his eyes when he encounters Viktor in the foyer of the villa.

Viktor is in a set of jeans and a white button-down shirt, casually leaning against a wooden pillar as he flips through a book. Yuuri’s heart skips at the sight, though his stomach sinks as well when he looks at the head of the board.

“The answer is still no,” he says quietly.

The man flushes brightly, but says nothing to it as he scampers out the door. Yuuri turns to Viktor, walks across the sunlit foyer to him with a soft, wistful sigh.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asks.

Viktor makes a low groaning noise. “And have to get back to work?”

Yuuri chuckles, reaching out and drawing him in by the waist. Viktor slips his finger between the pages of the book and goes willingly into Yuuri’s arms, kissing his forehead.

“Everything’s packed,” he says after a moment, his expression comically downcast. “When’s our train?”

“At eleven,” replies Yuuri. “Mari will see us off at the station.”

Viktor hums at that, leaning down to kiss the tip of Yuuri’s nose. “I’ll take Makka out for one last walk, then,” he says. His finger slips from the pages of the book. “Come with me?”

Makkachin is just as sad to leave the villa as his owner, sniffing along every single shrub and shrine as they round the gravel walkways of the villa gardens and hot springs. Viktor is silent at Yuuri’s side, taking deep breaths of the fresh seaside air as if he’s about to go underwater — to submerge himself again in the hustle and bustle of Tokyo.

A return to the status quo: a big apartment in Roppongi, a job that keeps him up late, a schedule with barely enough time to tend to Makkachin. Viktor is already giving up so much, changing around entire aspects of his life — and all for them. For the prospect of a forever Yuuri keeps trying to hold off.

Viktor is silent for the rest of the walk and the drive to the station in Fukuoka. The press is gathered outside the doors, snapping pictures of them as they disembark from the limousine. Makkachin and Vicchan scamper along with the guards, Minako falls into step at Yuuri’s flank.

“Your sister is here,” she says suddenly, just as they reach the turnstiles. Sure enough, Mari and her husband are standing by the gate with a couple guards of their own, Mr Suzuki’s eyes shaded behind mirrored sunglasses. He has chin-length bleached hair, Yuuri notes, which probably explains Mari’s own style.

“Yuuri-kun!” Mari exclaims over the crowd, waving. Yuuri nods at Minako, veering off towards where his sister stands. She folds him in a hug in lieu of protocol, though her husband bows at him. “Lighten up a bit; you look constipated when you’re trying to be serious.”

“ _Mari_ ,” Yuuri hisses, feeling his cheeks heat up. Mari giggles, holding him at arm’s length and ruffling his hair out of its original slick style. “Mari, please —”

“You know I’m just worried about you,” she replies. “I’m sorry. For putting this burden on your shoulders. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Yuuri snorts, pushing his glasses back on his nose from where she’d knocked them off. “Are you really sorry?” he asks drily, looking over at Mr Suzuki.

Mari does, too, and shakes her head. “No,” she replies, stepping back to take his hand. “Love won’t pay your bills, but it will keep you happy. I think it’s important to remember that.”

Yuuri looks back at Viktor, who’s trying to pet both Makkachin and Vicchan at the same time. He’s mostly successful, much to the amusement of the passerby with their phones out.

“I don’t pay bills,” he points out. “Not really, at least.”

“The sentiment still stands,” replies Mari. Her gaze is fixed on Viktor, wistful and sad. “Our family has spent so long being deified that it’s easy to forget we’re also human. Humans need things that make them happy. Other humans that make them happy. Is that… is that what Viktor is to you, still? Even after a year?”

Yuuri nods. It’s as natural as a heartbeat.

“And do you want another year of being with him?” asks Mari, looking at him. Yuuri feels his ears burn; he turns down to scuff his shoes against the tiled floor.

“I think so,” he says. That bit has always been a bit harder. Even now the admission cuts through him, like the sweetest sort of pain.

“And for every year after?”

“As long as he wants.”

“After a couple years, he’ll wonder why you’re not grooming him to be an Imperial husband.”

“Does Suzuki-san wonder that, too?” counters Yuuri. Mari laughs, turning to her husband. He looks as if he’s trying not to listen in too hard on the conversation despite being right there, and sets down his phone with a wry smile.

“I knew when I married your sister that she was giving up the throne, so, no.”

“See, that’s easy.” Yuuri looks back at Viktor, who’s now cradling Vicchan in his arms, looking impatiently back at him. “If I choose Viktor, I’m asking him to choose to throw away his job, his country — even his last name. And for what? To make _me_ happy?”

“Maybe you should let him make the choice himself, then,” replies Mari.

Yuuri swallows. “Maybe,” he agrees. Mari hugs him again, her breath tickling his ear.

“Take care, Yuuri-kun,” she says. Yuuri nods, stepping back as soon as she lets him. He retreats to Viktor’s side, taking his arm as they pass through the gate heading towards the platform.

“You had a good chat with your sister?” asks Viktor as they board the carriage that had been reserved for them. There’s the sound of cameras and phones, especially as one of Viktor’s hands moves to the small of Yuuri’s back.

“She gave me some things to think about,” replies Yuuri, as he leads Viktor to their seat by the window. There’s a golden chrysanthemum in a little vase on the table between. Makkachin leaps onto the seat next to Viktor, settling his head in the reporter’s lap.

Yuuri thinks again of the big apartment and the tiring job and the busy schedule that Viktor’s speeding back towards, and feels his gut clench in response.

* * *

In all honesty, part of Viktor wants to stay in Hasetsu forever. In a sleepy seaside town where the cry of the gulls and the waves mark the passing of time, where the laughter of children fill the air, where the fireflies dance in the early twilight — this is where Yuuri belongs, where he can let loose and be himself. And Viktor wants to be there with him.

But he knows he has to return to Tokyo, and part of him is excited to be in his own flat again. A little less so about the work that awaits him on his laptop, but he knows he can’t have everything. Still, as the fields and rivers and towns zoom by, he can’t help but feel that same dizzying excitement that had stirred in him on the way down to Fukuoka.

He and Yuuri have somehow, inevitably, ended up on the same side of the table, Viktor pillowing his head on Yuuri’s lap and flipping idly through their photos together. Yuuri is reading through some sort of dossier Minako has drawn up for him — some event he has to attend the instant he arrives in Tokyo.

That’s the part that Viktor hates, having to say goodbye to Yuuri even after spending these two weeks in his company. He can handle returning to his flat and his work and all of the exhaustion that entails, but he doesn’t want to leave Yuuri. Not now, not when he’s just getting used to waking up to him every morning.

So he entwines their fingers, lingers his lips against Yuuri’s knuckles. The shinkansen trip takes five hours; he has five hours left with Yuuri’s undivided attention upon him.

And yet those five hours pass too quickly, as before Viktor knows it, they’re pulling into Tokyo Central Station. The afternoon is dusky gold, with the shadows on the platform just starting to lengthen. Yuuri kisses him awake from his nap, his eyes amused as Viktor yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

They step off the train, Viktor a couple paces behind Yuuri. Almost as soon as they clear the platform, it feels as if a veil has fallen between them, between their worlds. Now upon their return to Tokyo, Viktor is an ordinary person again, adrift in a vast crowd like a corked bottle bobbing on the waves.

He turns to the chamberlains who have taken his luggage and Makkachin’s leash. Next to him, Yuuri has stopped, taking both of his hands and squeezing them.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, his cheeks dusted pink at the press of the cameras around them. Viktor swallows down the inexplicable lump in his throat, nods. They must be going to different cars, because their luggage and dogs are being pulled in different directions.

In the distance, he dimly makes out a vague but familiar figure dressed in black, but Yuuri turns his face towards him, his expression burning like a lover’s on the eve of war.

“Take care of yourself,” he says.

“I —” Viktor looks again. The figure has entered the station and is striding towards them. Yuuri is either entirely oblivious, or is determinedly ignoring them. Viktor shifts to obscure him from the stranger, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You too, solnyshko.”

Yuuri smiles, his hand still cupping Viktor’s cheek. He pecks him, briefly, face flushing bright red at the probable breach of protocol. Viktor’s hand flies to his lips, savouring that last point of contact as Yuuri steps away, and is whisked by Minako out of the station doors.

He barely has time to linger in the golden melancholy of seeing Yuuri leave, as he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Turning, he sees the figure, but now the man’s face is clear. It’s Hiramatsu, the Grand Master of the Kunaicho. His smile is as sharply pressed as his suit, and he bows to Viktor before gesturing for him to follow.

“Come ride with me, Mr Nikiforov,” he says.

Viktor’s stomach drops, but he nods and follows the old man out of the station, to where a black car with tinted windows is idling at the curb. Looking back, Viktor sees Makkachin at a car a couple paces behind, straining at his leash before the guards manage to bundle him into the back. He swallows, his heart inexplicably heavy, and looks back at where Hiramatsu is waiting for him by the open car door.

Slowly, he gets into the car. There’s a partition between the backseat and the front. Hiramatsu knocks on it, and the car pulls away from the curb immediately, smoothly merging into the traffic of downtown Tokyo.

“So,” says Hiramatsu, folding his hands in his lap. Viktor raises an eyebrow.

“Do you usually pick up the Crown Prince from his summer retreat, or was this a special occasion?” he asks.

Hiramatsu’s lip curls. “How I choose to ensure the safety of the Imperial Family is none of your concern, Mr Nikiforov,” he replies.

Viktor nods. “Right,” he exhales. “You’re giving me the shovel talk.”

Hiramatsu’s eyebrow arches. “I beg your pardon?”

“The ‘if you hurt His Imperial Highness, I would like to remind you that I have diplomatic immunity in forty-two countries, including Puerto Rico’ speech. Though… why Puerto Rico? I never quite got that line.”

“You’re quoting a movie,” states Hiramatsu.

Viktor nods. “ _A Royal Scoop_. It’s one of my favourites, honestly. You really should check it out, I’m sure it’ll be really funny, especially when you see how inept their press liaisons are —” he cuts off, because Hiramatsu’s expression had gone from displeased to downright stony. “Right. Sorry.” He pauses, looking down at his fingers. “You called me here for a reason, didn’t you?”

“I did,” agrees Hiramatsu, his expression not budging an inch as he continues. “There is a bank account here in Japan that you may access, with over five hundred million yen stored within it. Enough to keep you comfortable for some time, I imagine.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know it must be difficult for you to part so suddenly with over two hundred million yen just for an apartment here in Tokyo,” replies Hiramatsu. “We would merely be reimbursing you for your troubles.”

“Troubles,” echoes Viktor, his heart lurching unpleasantly even as the car stops at a stop light. In the blurry reflection of the partition, Hiramatsu’s glare remains obsidian. “You want something in return.”

“Yes,” replies Hiramatsu, and his smile is shark-like. “The Imperial Household Agency hopes this sum will be sufficient to persuade you to end your relationship with the Crown Prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imperial family members in public: First off, RIP Princess Mako and Kei Komuro's engagement :( They were apparently able to use public transit to go on dates just fine, so I've given Yuuri a small amount of unrecognisability. 
> 
> Itzhak Perlman: Actually, he did perform at Suntory Hall, and the Crown Prince was in attendance! But that was back in 2017, so I'm going to handwave it a little. 
> 
> A Royal Scoop: I've been threatening Robbie and Liz to put in a reference to _A Christmas Prince_ since I first watched it on Netflix. This version has Chadwick Boseman as the plucky journalist and Prince Richard's secret is that he's trans, so he loses the throne due to that technicality on his birth certificate, which is swiftly amended by the old king's secret will that grants primogeniture to the firstborn child regardless of gender.
> 
> Friday: A terrible gossip rag in Japan that reports blatant untruths about celebrities on the regular.
> 
> Imperial Villas: The Kunaicho do in fact maintain villas in Suzaki, Hayama, and Nasu for the Imperial Family to visit at their leisure depending on the season. The ones in Kyoto are not inhabited but are open to the public. 
> 
> McCarthy being a dick: Yes, that was a reference to Roy Moore. Yes, this is wishful thinking that the US would do this to government officials accused of sexual misconduct.
> 
> Snap elections in Japan: Abe did, in fact, do this because the left-wing parties in Japan started splitting off and he wanted to consolidate his power in the face of North Korea. But you'll see if Matsudaira follows through... 
> 
> Waka poetry: Yes, Imperial Household members do have to write waka poetry, and people who marry in are expected to learn it. It's... essentially an extended haiku. More on it later. 
> 
> Meoto yunomi: Thank you to... Meri, I think, in SVDD for providing the idea! I envisioned them as sorta Stammi Vicino-inspired, but also in the style of Karatsu-ware, which is very naturalistic. These cups usually are a paired set of teacups, and sometimes the "his" cup is bigger than the "hers". Not the case here though ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, and as such any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. 
> 
> Thank you to [history-rover](http://history-rover.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and [thehobbem](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) for enabling and help with worldbuilding!
> 
> Scream about Viktuuri with me on [Tumblr](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/)!


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